Bleed
by Apple Senorita
Summary: A myserious illness that Sam caught on a hunting tripyears ago, comes back and attacks the younger Winchester for a second time.It has demonic,supernatural ties but what are they?
1. Chapter 1

**AS:** I've got a few things to say up here first of all. Ignore it if you want but I'm only being...it's either boring or polite. Anyway, apart from my oneshot Chasing Cars that I did, this is my first Supernatural fanfic, so don't flame! Thanks for the reviews for Chasing Cars and thanks to**Bewitched by Potter**, because I've decided to write a little childhood fic from Chasing Cars, so thanks for the idea!

Um...oh, yeah, I don't own the Supernatural characters. At all. I just like to stand there and admire them!  
Oh and by the way, sorry if this is way too wordy for it's own good, i was in a...wordy mood.

So, enjoy...

* * *

"Ugh,"  
Sam swatted at the fat ugly mosquito type creature as it crawled slowly over the top of the car door. The intense heat off the black car's hood near burnt Sam's skin. He glanced an irritated look over to the gas station where Dean was flirting with a pretty girl behind the counter. The heat had stripped her to a top as close to a bikini top as it was going to get, and white shorts to show the deep tan on her skin. Dean was loving it. He said something and she laughed, pulling a few strands of her overly-dyed blonde hair from her face. Sam rolled his eyes and peeled himself away from the car, scuffing his way over closer to the edge of the road where the cars whipping by allowed a breeze on his hot skin. The area was so hot that he could feel the soles of his shoes sticking to the hot tarmac. A couple of kids of skateboards rushed by, shouting into a wind that, when it came along, was about as sluggish and hot as Sam felt. 

"Sammy! Come on!"  
When he _wanted_ his brother to be busy, why wasn't he?

"Yeah I'm coming!" he called, batting away a fly.

Dean got into the car and stashed his goodies about his seat, putting the two bottles of water onto the back seat where it was slightly cooler. Eventually Sam joined him, throwing himself into the passenger seat.

"It's hot,"

"Yeah I figured that Sammy,"  
"It's Sam,"  
"It's what I say it is,"  
Sam hit the OFF button the radio the minute Dean turned it on.  
"Don't Dean,"  
"What!"  
"I am _not_ in the mood for Metallica-" Dean opened his mouth, "Or any other band, singer or guitar solo,"  
"The heat gets to you _so_ bad," Dean muttered under his breath, remembering a time Sam used to lay out on the beds they used to share at the motels, whining fitfully about how hot he was. The only way to keep his quiet was to wet a towel with cold water and give it him to drape over himself.

"You got food?" Sam enquired, looking down at the packets shoved down the side of Dean's seat and on thrown onto the dashboard. He distinctly saw the deep banana-yellow wrapped of peanut M&Ms, with the that smarmy M&M character waving a hand in mock salute at him. Why did _everything_ bug him in this sort of heat?  
"You call this food?"  
"Fresh from one of the best food group's of all,"  
"What, the fats! Dean, why didn't you just get a big bucket of salt instead?"  
Dean smirked, "Oh come on Sammy, this is great food! Builds up those-"  
"Artery clogs?"  
"You're boring college boy. Hey look, I got you a sandwich. What more do you want?"  
Sam picked up the inevitably stale bacon lettuce and tomato sandwich. He sort of wish he hadn't insisted on not going to a diner for their meal that night.  
"Fine. But if you…" there was no point warning him he may feel sick. Dean ate this kind of food twenty-four-seven.

* * *

The motel was in the centre of town, seemingly absorbing every inch of heat coating the air.  
"Have a nice stay," a man with a motorised hand fan at the desk said lazily, pushing the keys towards Dean. Dean snatched them up, "Thanks,"  
As Sam unpacked, he began to feel light headed. Reality spun a second and he had to sit down.  
"What? What's wrong? Not another freaky premonition thing, right?" Dean asked in a rush, tensing a little from where he was rifling around in his bag. 

"No…I'm fine,"  
Sam stood up, took a bottle of water and slaked his suddenly insatiable thirst.

"Slow down there Sam, or you're gonna to be sick,"

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said irritably, going back to his unpacking. The dizziness hadn't quite gone yet, but he felt slightly better for shutting his brother up. And the sit down of course.

"Alright. But if you pass out I'm leaving you on the floor," Dean said, pointing at him with his tube of toothpaste. Sam ignored him. A moment or two later, nausea took a tight grip of his stomach.  
"Whoa," he muttered under his breath, sitting down heavily on the bed. He gripped the water bottle and drank fitfully, not stopping for breath until almost the entire bottle was drained and the tightness in his chest made his blood pump hard.

"Sam!"

Dean's voice broke through the rushing in his ears and he dropped the water bottle to the floor.

"What the hell is wrong with you, you practically went blue! For God's sake you can't be that thirsty,"  
"I am," Sam croaked, wanting the water bottle again. Dean gave a small frown and grabbed the second water bottle, "Ok. Have a drink. But, you know, small sips, Ok?"

Sam nodded wildly and grabbed the bottle, tipping his head back and downing the lukewarm water as best as he could, "Christ Sammy, slow down!"

Sam dropped the bottle as a warm surge roared up his throat and he bent over the edge of the bed and threw up the water. Dean stared at his brother, not quite believing what he was starting to dread was happening again.  
"Sam," he said quietly into the din of silence, "Sammy,"  
Sam looked up from the floor, eyes narrowed, "Don't start,"  
"Sam I'm sure you've had this before,"  
"What?"  
"You…you don't remember?"  
"No. What happened?"

Sam eyed the water bottle on the chest of drawers. God he was so thirsty…

"Sam! Sam are you listening to me?"  
"Yeah," Sam nodded, sitting up.

"You feeling Ok?"  
"Just go on,"  
"When you were about ten, we'd been jumped by some spirits possessing wolves out in the Michigan woods. Do you remember?"  
Sam frowned through the buzzing in his heads. Michigan woods? Wolves? Dean carried on, "You got up a tree for cover and Dad and I slaughtered the things. You didn't come down. We searched everywhere for you and you weren't there. Dad went mad. We both did. You'd just suddenly vanished. You stumbled back to the car about an hour later, and you were…ill, for days," Dean shook his head, "Don't you remember that?"  
"No. I can't remember it at all,"  
"Gee Sammy I didn't think you'd forget that. It only heightened Dad's fears about leaving you alone,"  
"What happened? When I disappeared?"  
"We don't know. Dad told me not to ask you, but we assumed you knew,"  
"No. I…I didn't, I don't, know,"

Dean paused, scratching his chin as he eyed his brother. Maybe he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Sam's face wasn't grey, in fact he still had his healthy tan. He wasn't shaking with cold, in fact he was still sweating and hot just like Dean was. He wasn't having a gushing, never ending nosebleed and most importantly…Dean shook his head, ridding himself of the memory.

"This might not be it, Sam, I'm just suggesting something since…back then you were constantly thirsty too,"  
Dean stood up, lifting his brother up with him, "Well whether this is it or not, you need to go to bed,"

Sam was annoyed and embarrassed, and pushed Dean's helping hand away. He didn't care whether this was his old mystery sickness or what, he just wanted a drink…

"No, Dean, I'm fine-"  
"You keep saying that somehow, and I just keep on not believing you,"  
"No Dean-"  
He didn't want Dean to mother him. He wanted to clean up the mess on the floor and have a long, long drink…

He felt his body relax completely and Dean lowered him down onto the bed. He slid into a deep sleep, trying to catch a whisper of a memory at the back of his head. Trees. Lots of trees. Something with wings, it beat the air around him, made him cool. He slept and dreamed uneasily as Dean cleaned up and watched over him cautiously. When Sam had been ill that time …it had scared the hell out of Dean. And ok, that had been years ago, and it may be something completely different, but he was going to be safe rather than sorry…

* * *

Sam felt the blood pooling in his mouth, sinking warm between his molars and slicking over his tongue. His eyes opened wide and the slightly heady, draining feeling made his senses hit him sharply. A million things raced through his mind as he heard the heavy 'pit…pit' of blood making it in large fat droplets to the off-white sheet beneath him. His thoughts threw themselves around his sleep and heat addled brain, jarring his ability to get up and sort things out until he came to a screeching halt in his horrifying theories. He brushed his fist past his nose and the back of his hand was swiped in blood. He flapped hurriedly out his close, stiff sheets. The bathroom light was too pale and too bright, casting gaunt shadows down his features as he grabbed the peach coloured hand towel. He switched the light off, unable to bare it's harsh light. 

In the room beyond the bathroom, Dean was slipping hazily in and out of a lazy dream that seemed to be connected to sleep. Everytime he drifted out of it, usually at a point where he was about to turn the Chevy into their hometown of Lawrence, he'd blink sleepily across the dark room to see Sammy splayed on his own bed, feel the sweat on his skin and the sheets wrapped like cement around his ankles, then he'd close his heavy eyes and he would be on a long, sweet-smelling straight stretch of highway. He moved round and round in his dreams headily like an aching, longing dance, about to go home then suddenly miles away, interrupted by snapshots of their cheap motel room. The green figures on the clock convulsed and flicked to 4:54, and Dean rolled back into musty consciousness to see a different looking room. His feet jerked a little under the sheets and it felt like he had heaved them from caked on snow-boots. Sam wasn't in his bed. Carefully he lifted his head, feeling his skin break away from the creamy-coloured pillow and warm air drench his cheek. He opened and shut his eyes repeatedly for a moment or two to blink away the lasting image of the dashboard of his Chevy, and looked about the room. The curtains were still down, and the smell of the wet plants outside trickled in on the thick breeze. He pulled himself up from the damp sheets.  
"Sammy?" his voice was rough and low. He looked up, squinting against early morning sun that cracked light onto the dark red terracotta ceiling.

"Sammy?"

The bathroom light wasn't on. Groaning Dean pulled himself from bed, his head like an empty space full of hot air.

"Sam are you in there?"

No response. He was sure his brother was in there.

"Sammy what's wrong?" he asked, leaning heavily against the door. He swiped a hand across his forehead. How could it be so _hot_! Still blinking away the roads from his dreams, Dean knocked harshly on the door, "Sammy?"  
"I'm fine,"  
Dean paused, shaking himself to full awareness, "Well just by saying that I'm kinda getting you're not-"  
"I'm fine, Dean,"  
Dean rolled his eyes and stood to wander over to his bed to check his cell phone, deciding to leave Sam to his own devices for a few moments. He flicked open his phone, checked his messages and the time. As he moved back over to the bathroom door to rouse his brother from it's depths, he noticed the pool of dark blood on the bed, the smear of it across the sheets and the drips of it on the pillow. Dean strode over to the door and banged in once, with force, with his fist.  
"Sammy?"  
"What Dean?" Sam's voice was tired and drawn, and seriously annoyed.

"Open this door,"  
"I'm fine Dean,"  
"Look Sam, I am hot, I am tired, and right now seriously pissed off, so open the goddamn door,"

There was a moment's pause, then the latch clicked slowly. Dean fumbled and opened the door as quick as possible. Sam had taken up his position on the edge of the tub again. He gritted his teeth and stared up at Dean defiantly. Dean felt his hands slip from the doorknob and his mind spun for a fraction of a second…

**

* * *

**

"Don't forget to lock the doors-"  
"Salt the windows, keep the phone close to me, know where the gun is, and watch over Sammy," a sixteen year old Dean recited, one hand on the rim of the kitchen sink, giving his Dad his full attention.  
John nodded, "Right. You do that Dean,"  
In a hurry John scrambled out of the motel room's flimsy front door. Dean sighed and turned the lock. Tiptoeing into his brother's room, he went to inspect his gangly twelve year old brother before he went to go and watch some TV. After what had happened today, after Sammy had disappeared for so long like that, Dean was determined to keep a vigil over his baby brother. Sam had annoyed their Dad greatly by not telling them what had happened. He'd gone temporarily mute and glared at the corner of the room, angering the older Winchester.  
Dean wandered into Sam's bedroom. The bed was empty. The pillow had a blossom of red just off-centre. His body seemed to jerk like a shot had rang through it, before he collected himself and moved to the bathroom, "Sammy! Sammy you in there!"

He shoved open the door, falling through into the cool, white-tiled bathroom. The blood on the floor and the bath and the achingly white towels made Dean's stomach clench with nausea, "Sammy what's wrong!"  
"Nothing," Sam kicked his brother away and clenched the towel to his nose, "Stop it Dean I'm fine!"  
His face burned with embarrassment. Dean brushed away the sweaty bangs from Sam's forehead and planted his palm against his forehead. Maybe there was embarrassment under there, but it wasn't that solely that caused the angry red flush on Sam's tanned skin. Sam's eyes glazed for a moment and he slid forward, "Tired," he gasped, as his grip on everything was relinquished very suddenly, "Hey I've got you, I've got you Sammy,"

"I'm thirsty,"  
Dean shook his head, lifting him up, "Alright, I'll get you a drink, you just sit tight there Ok, I've got you,"  
Suddenly Sam was gripping onto Dean's shirt, the towel falling lose to the floor and the blood dripping down his neck and chin, "Dean!"  
"Sam it's me, it's Ok, what's wrong!"  
"Dean I can't see!"

* * *

Dean knelt by his brother and caught his brother's limp form as he slid to the floor, "Sam! Sam!" 

"Thirsty," Sam coughed, the one hand not pinned underneath his fallen body moving about as if trying to grab something to drink. Dried tracks of blood trailed his chin and neck, all the way down the neck of his shirt.

"I'll get you a drink Sam just sit up,"

Sam's eyes cracked open slowly. His hand shot up to grab Dean's scruff, "Sam? Sam-"  
"Dean I can't see,"

* * *

AS: Ok there it is, REVIEW PLEASE!

Thank ye


	2. Chapter 2

**AS:** Wow! Thank you so, so, so, so much for the reviews! My exams are pretty much over (only one more to go: OH YES!) so I can give this and my other fanfics my sole attention. So expect a few more regular updates.

I'm glad to see people want to know what's going to happen and want more, so here it is. Hope it lives up to expectations.

* * *

FLASHBACK 

Dean forced his dark eyes open and fixed them on Sam. He couldn't keep up with this. There was another two hours on his shift and yet he couldn't keep his eyes open. He shifted brusquely in his seat and stared intently at his watch, hoping the bright glow of the green digits would smart his eyes to wake them up. Ten year old Sam shifted where he was stretched across the back seat under their Dad's coat, and Dean snatched his eyes over to him. Sam relaxed and fell quiet. Dean scrubbed his hand over his face and blinked again at the numbers on his tank watch. _Still_ two hours to go.

He peered through the darkness that swamped the truck. The wolves, driven on to amazing levels of feral ruthlessness by a wronged Shaman, were supposed to be stalking a wounded hunter. The woods had been out of bounds by the National Park service for years, and John had had to cut through the wire mesh fencing before he could get anywhere near the wolves. The man had obviously thought he could handle the wild wolves and had gone in to catch himself some deer. John had gone to scout for a few hours, and what he found would effect how they'd spent the rest of the night. Either they'd go into the forest together and try to find the source of the dead Shaman's power, probably his unmarked grave somewhere, or they'd go back to the motel dodging beer bottles and bikers arguing over the pool table, and try to get some more background information on the wolves.

The heat was beginning to seep into the car, the last efforts of the air conditioning that had been switched off hours ago was slowly fading. The seats had warmed under the brother's body heat and Dean could only put his forehead against the glass of the window for any sort of cool. A midge fluttered by and pestered the window, determined to get in. Dean tapped the glass under it's wings and it blew up on the sluggish wind and soared upwards. Sam sniffed in his sleep and kicked a leg out, booting the edge of the car and making Dean jump out of his skin. After a few moments of blood pumping through his ears he relaxed back against the dashboard and scoffed. Sam was too long for that backseat already, and he was only ten. Long, gangly legs, darkly tanned from their recent stint in the hot everglades,weren't able to stretch out. His upper body was bent slightly, his head resting against his gibbon-like, bony arms that hung down from the seats so that his fingers brushed the carpet of the floor of the car. His Dad's coat over him only covered him from his shoulders to his knees, that poked out of holes in his worn black jeans. Dean smiled, remembering how those jeans had used to be his, and hehad donated them to Sam. Sam had been going on about how he wanted clothes a bit more like his brother's; a bit more grown up. The look of amazement and disbelief on his brother's face when he had handed those old ragged things over made Dean happy and sad at the same time.

Out in the dark blanket of the bristling forest, something cawed. A long, low sound that trembled in Dean's ears. He craned up in his seat and his hand went for the handle of the gun on the armrest. The sound turned to a snarl. Dean immediately thought wolves and grabbed the gun firmly. He shifted so that his shoulders were pinned between the two front seats, his lower body crouched on the passenger seat, and leant his free arm back to poke Sam.

"Hm? What?"  
"It's the wolves Sammy. Keep your head down and stay behind me,"

Sam froze under his Dad's coat. He gripped the collar, "They're here?"

"Maybe. Just keep quiet. And still,"  
Sam nodded and stared intently at his brother's back, fixing his ears on the sounds outside. Dean frowned. The snarl had risen to a chattering high pitched cry. That wasn't a wolf. Dean searched the darkness as best he could. He cursed the torches in the trunk.

"What is it Dean?"  
"I don't know Sam just keep quiet,"

The white ball of solid light thrown against the window made both Winchester's yell with surprise. Dean fell backwards on top of Sam, who yelped under the weight of his fourteen year old brother.  
"Get off me Dean!"  
Dean pointed the gun at the white ethereal tangle of tendrils that had smacked against the window. It seemed to have no discernable body or face, but a constant swarming mass of waving arms that tapped against the window. It spread out across the side of the car.

"Do we get out of the car?"  
"No! Stay inside, don't open the door!"  
Dean trained the gun on the centre of the creature but hesitated to fire. If rock salt didn't work on this thing, whatever the hell it was, then he was just going to smash the glass and puncture their safe hiding place.

"Get down Sam,"  
Sam scrambled from under his Dad's coat and pressed himself as close to the bottom of the driver' seat as he could. The thing sent a white glow into the car, lighting awkward shadows onto their faces and paling their skin. Dean's hand shook the gun. The thing seemed to be oozing up against the car, pressing closer, the glass looked to be bending under it's weight. Thechattering sound rang in his ears, the noise speeding across quiet whispers that slid into the car through the glass, in a language Dean didn't understand.Dean's finger pressed against the trigger.He felt himself sweat more than he had done all day under the blazing sun. He had no idea what to do with this creature with no apparent weakness and the helplessness coursing through him.

Sam barely had time to make a noise of surprise as the door opened behind him, letting hot evening air flood in, and something grabbed the scruff of his neck.

"Get out of the car," John Winchester's voice shut Sam up in an instant. He hit the grass on all fours and felt the thud of Dean fall next to him. They scrambled to their feet and Dean clenched the elbow of his t-shirt.

"Run to the woods,"

Dean shoved the gun away and sprinted for the hole in the fence. Shots rang out behind them. Sam crawled desperately through the hole in the fence, Dean following, and then they were running, flinching as noises from the forest screamed about them and the gun shots continued in the background. They reached a clearing, as far away from the thing as they wanted to be without losing sight of their Dad.

"Dad!" Dean yelled, still holding tightly onto Sammy. The night was dark now. The glow from the creature had gone, he couldn't see the car or their Dad, "Dad!"

"Where's he gone?" Sam panted, holding onto the back of Dean's t-shirt with enough force to squeeze blood from it.

"Get down," Dean whispered, pulling Sam down to the grass. The glow had moved to the treetops and was skimming along the top outer fringes of the forest, speeding over with little care as to what was beneath it. It passed over them, casting another pale light to halo on their heads. Then it was gone, further into the depths of the forest. It was a minute or two later before John caught them up. He stood panting, glaring after the creature, shotgun in his hand and eyes fixed on his sons.

"Come on,"  
"What was that Dad?"  
"Follow me,"  
Dean followed wordlessly. He felt Sam let go of his shirt slowly and was a little relieved. Sam's hot hands were making him feel even clammier.

"The wolves have been attacking things all night. We need to stay alert,"  
"Shouldn't we go back to the car?"  
"I found his burial ground. We're finishing this,"  
"Was that…thing, anything to do with the wolves?"

"Any other spiritual entity trying to dodge around the wolves wouldn't have made it. The pack would have probably soaked it up. It was powerful magic that Shaman was using. I think it's got something to do with the wolves alright,"  
Dean nodded.

"Here," John cast a tanned hand outwards, spreading it out a little over a small area in front of them.  
They were at the edge of a steep drop, a craggy ridge jutting out over soft mossy ground beneath where saplings grew. A few rabbits darted off in different directions, two dead ones left in their wake. The wolves had been around here recently. John dropped down onto the grass and Dean followed. He turned to stretch a hand out to Sam but he wasn't there. He startled, "Sam? Sammy?"  
"I'm here,"  
Sam had already scrambled down at a lower part of the ridge.  
"Is this it?" he whispered to his brother, watching as his Dad spread the gasoline over the mound that trembled and quaked as if alive with insects.

"Looks like it,"  
"The wolves are going to come back," John said, as he sorted out the salt, "Sam, get up a tree, as far as you can, and wait for us there. Keep talking to Dean, I want to know you're alright up there. Dean, help me,"  
Sam nodded and jumped for the lowest branch of the nearby sturdy tree. He pulled himself up to one of the higher branches then called down, "I'm up. Is this going to work Dad?"  
"You know what burning the bones does Sammy," Dean said confidently, scrounging for his lighter in his pocket. Sam nodded hastily.

"Was he a Native American shaman Dad?" Dean asked, as he flicked out his Dad's old lighter. He knew his Dad liked silence when he worked but he didn't say to keep Sam talking.  
"Yes,"  
Dean lit the lighter and waited for his Dad's signal. He was so glad this was going to be over. The heat made his head spin. He was glad Sam had stopped asking so many questions too, he thought it might be making his Dad a little testy. In fact, the boy had gone completely silent. The burial ground went up in flames, roaring and crackling and screaming as a Shaman beyond the grave lost his last ever contact with the mortal world, and in the distance the howl of dying wolves caught the wind. John cracked a smile. Dean laughed against the roar of the flames. He looked up through the branches of the tree.

"Alright Sammy you can come down now! The big bag wolves are gone!"

He turned around to inspect the wriggling of the burial ground, expecting to hear Sam's excited, rushed voice next to him any moment. A few minutes later, he looked up to see his Dad peering up the tree.  
"Sammy!" he called up. No response. Dean frowned and leapt to his feet, "Sam! You up there! Sam!"  
"Sam! Come on!...Sammy! Sam where are you!"

END FLASHBACK

* * *

Dean swallowed. He nodded, "Right. I got you Sammy, come on, sit up," 

Sammy tried to pull himself up without Dean's help but his muscles had turned to quick sand in his shaking arms. He leant his back against the cool side of the bath and closed his eyes. He mused tiredly if his nose had stopped bleeding yet. The pulling feel at the back of his brain made him sleepy. It felt like hands gently touching the back of his head, drawing him backwards into a sleep he wasn't even sure he wanted.

"Sam! Sam stay with me,"  
The tension in the bathroom relaxed slightly as Dean finally caught his frantic breath and fixed his head on straight. He crouched down in a better position in front of Sam. Sam himself had calmed slightly too. His panting had lessened, his shaking dying a little from the fever.

"You can't see?"  
"No,"  
"Not at all?"  
"No, Dean, I can't, not at all. Just…just a lot of light,"  
Dean nodded. He eyed Sam warily. How was he supposed to tell him this had happened before?

"Hey, can I have some water?"  
Dean grabbed the small cup at the bathroom sink and filled it up a quarter of the way, "Yeah. Just don't drink it all in one go-"  
Sam fumbled for the cup, got a hold of it, and swigged the mouthful. Dean was about to say something before Sam turned, and spat the water out into the bath. It was bright with blood.

"Thanks,"  
"You…" Dean looked down at the cup in Sam's hand, "Sam you…you didn't drain that cup dry,"  
"What?"  
"You're not thirsty, right?"

"No,"  
Dean frowned. If he remembered rightly, back when Sam had had this before, and there was no doubt in Dean's mind that this was a repeat of that incident, he had never stopped being thirsty. He had demanded drink after drink and gasped and panted when he couldn't get any, as if he were slowly drowning. Now…Sam wasn't thirsty.

"How are you feeling?"  
"Apart from the random blindness? Fine,"  
"Look, we're gonna sort this out, Ok? Now this must be some sort of spell, or supernatural…thing, but we…_I_ am gonna sort this out,"  
Sam's eyes seemed trained to the floor. He gave a small smile, "Thanks Dean,"  
Dean scratched his head, feeling a little embarrassed after that blurting of heroic-brotherly-promises.

"At least I don't have to look at your ugly face anymore," Sam said with a smile into the awkward silence.

"Bitch,"  
Sam could only laugh, "Jerk,"  
A pause settled on the two. "I'm blind, Dean. Can we sort this out?"  
Dean nodded, "You wanna stay here?"  
"I want to go back to bed,"  
Dean helped Sam to his feet. The small, cigarette burnt curtains on the open bathroom window breezed away from the glass and tickled Sam's arms. He froze and Dean swatted them away.

"It's just the curtains,"

"Dean,"  
"What?"  
"I can…I can see outlines,"  
"Of what?"  
"Everything. Like…like your face. The light's starting to fade,"  
"You think it's coming back?"  
"I don't know,"  
"Well…you have got out of that whole blood fest you had back there and-" Dean put his hand on Sam's forehead. Sam blinked through the bangs as they rested back over his eyes, "Your fever's going down. Maybe it's fading,"  
"'Blood fest'. Odd acronym for a nose bleed Dean,"  
"What can I say, I'm a walking thesaurus, I've been around you for a long time college boy,"

Sam was eventually sat on the edge of his bed, Dean leant against the door, feeling uncharacteristically helpless. And not the sort of helplessness he felt when Sam or Dad, or himself, was pinned up against the wall with a beast about to tear their jugulars out. Compared to this, that helplessness was almost a blessing. He couldn't slaughter whatever it was coursing through Sam's body, he couldn't grab the mysterious sickness by the throat and shoot it point-blanc in the head.

"It's coming back," Sam said suddenly into the silence. He moved his hands up and stared as the colour flushed into the outlines he'd been seeing for the past five minutes, "I can see colour again. The light's almost gone,"  
Dean grinned. He glanced at the blood all over Sam's sheets and pulled a face, "We're going to have to get you cleaned up," he scrutinised Sam's blood face, "You look like a melting strawberry sundae,"  
"I can clean myself up Dean," Sam sighed. He tested his eyesight and leant across the grab a hunk of tissues from the complimentary box at the side of the bed. He tried to wipe the blood from his chin but it had dried, caked to his tanned skin.

"You want a chisel for that?"  
"Shut up,"

Sam grabbed one of the water bottles he'd managed to leave alone and wetted the tissues. At least he wasn't trying to drain the water bottles dry again. That was a good sign.Dean rubbed his eyes.

"You can go back to bed if you want now Dean-"  
"No. No I…you were ill yesterday, and I went to bed, and you go blind-"

"Dean that wasn't your fault,"  
"No. I know but…anyway, I'm awake now,"  
Dean moved across the room and scooped up the laptop. He positioned himself at the small round table in the corner of the room, yanked open the window a bit more, and gave his little brother a usual Dean-style smile.

"Might as well get to work,"

He flipped open the laptop and wiped some sweat from his hairline. It was so hot he could almost see the heat waves pouring off the heated laptop surface. He took a bottle of water he had kept in the coolest corner of the room and took a sip. He glanced up at Sam trying to scrub the blood from his chin and neck.

"Right. So, this looks like a repeat of what happened last time,"  
"I went blind last time, did I?" Sam enquired, a glare in his seeing eyes as he wiped his face dry with his duvet.

"Yeah, you did,"  
"You didn't think to tell me yesterday?"  
"I wasn't even sure it was the same thing, Sam! Now...well it's identical Sam. Except last time you never came out of that little fit you had back there. You were constantly cold, you were constantly thirsty, you were like an animal. You were constantly blind. And we've got to start worrying about what might happen. I mean, there was that time you disappeared for an hour _again._ After the...second day. I think Dad had several major heartattacks, one after another. We found you in the carpark. Soon we'd better start trying to stop all that happening again,"  
"What is it though Dean? I'm not possessed, I didn't exactly go for your throat. I was just so...thirsty, and it felt like something was pulling at me. Then I came around and it was just like that...coming around after being knocked out,"  
"Maybe it's a spell, like I said. Someone weaving some magic around you-"  
"Or it could be medical,"  
"It's _not_ that Sam, alright?"  
"You don't want to even _consider_ the possible I may be ill do you?"  
"No! I don't! And you know why! 'Cos you're my little brother Sammy, and every demon and nasty foe that came across your path hasn't taken you down, so I refuse to believe that you are going to be spun crazy by some...disease. It isn't going to happen,"

Dean scrubbed his face and leant closer to the laptop, tapping in a few keywords into the search engine.  
"Just go to sleep Sam, just for a couple of hours,"  
Sam didn't protest. He kept silent and rested his hot forehead against the cool headboard.

He lifted up their Dad's journal from where it had been put next to the Chevy's keys, and began to flick through. The worn pages were soothing and comforting under his touch. Slowly his eyes became heavier and heavier, like they were being slowly injected with lead. Sam had fallen asleep propped up against the head board, obviously exhausted from the heat and massive nosebleed. Dean mused tiredly if they'd have to pay extra for the excessive amount of damage Sam had done to his sheets. He pinned his gaze to the laptop and tapped away for hours, swiping away seat and keeping himself cool by stripping himself to just his boxers. He figured Sam wouldn't mind, being asleep and all. After two hours of searching fruitlessly, he went to the other side of the room to open the window facing out on the main road a bit wider. As he was pulling back the curtains, he had a vague sense that something wasn't right. He turned to look across the room, and the dim light of the breaking sun revealed two very empty beds.

"Sam,"

Dean gaped at the empty, blood-stained bed, head shaking a little, "Wha'?...S…Sam! Sammy! Holy crap,"

Dean threw himself across the room and searched behind the curtains, peered under the bed and checked the bathroom twice. The Chevy keys were still there. The front door was still locked. Where the hell was his brother?

"Sam! Come on!...Sammy! Sam where are you!"

* * *

**AS:** Dun dun dun! Sam's gone missing again! Hope you liked it, and that the beginning wasn't too much of an anticlimax, Sam getting his sight back and all. But there is more action and Sam angst and general Winchester-brother angst to come. So keep reading! 

REVIEW PLEASE!

xx


	3. Chapter 3

**AS**: --Does a little dance--- Wow! Thank you for the reviews! I would reply to them all personally if I had the space, so I'm going to just say THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed.  
I'm sorry there's been a wait, I've been at a friend's house for almost a week so I haven't had time to update.  
And i'm sorry, but I'm finding it hard to work out the layout. I don't know why, but it just looks ridiculous everytime I do it. I'll figure it otu eventually, but bare with me.  
So, Sam's missing, and Dean doesn't know what the hell is going on apart from it's happened before. Hehe, find out more:

* * *

FLASHBACK 

"He's gone Dad!"  
"I know that Dean,"  
Dean jumped down from the branches of the tree and rolled with the impact, getting dangerously close to the fire that was still licking at the Shaman burial ground. He stared at the twigs and leaves crackling and burning in the consuming orange light.  
"Do you think it was that thing that attacked Sam and I? That…thing of light?"  
"I don't know Dean but we've got to find Sam,"

John held the shotgun like it was his only support. He raised it and stared into the vegetation around them. Dean stood up and tried to scan the darkness, "Sam! Sam! How long as he been gone Dad?"  
"Two hours,"  
Dean took the gun from his belt, "I'll go back to the car, see if he's there,"  
"No you don't, you're not going anywhere without me,"

Dean lowered the gun, "Yes sir,"

They searched the clearing for another half an hour, until John finally consented to the pair of them going back to the car.

"Sam!"  
Dean flung open the back car doors and searched everywhere, under his Dad's coat, around the seats, in the trunk. Another forty five minutes and the frantic look in the Winchester's eyes had grown to impossible levels. Dean slammed one of the doors shut and pressed his head against the cool glass.

"Where is he?"  
"Sam!" his Dad's distance voice calling into the forest made Dean felt sick. He didn't want to have to be calling out for Sam, he wanted him here, next to him, safe and sound and asking too many dumb questions.

The little moving lump at the edge of the road made Dean move away from the car. He caught the movement at the corner of his eye, and stared through the thick heavy air alight with mosquitoes and other flying bugs that found a patch of his heater skin a welcome food stop. He slapped a mosquito on his neck and let the dead tangled body fall to the ground. He took a step closer towards the empty road, and the thing shuffled some more. If that was one of those Shaman's feral wolves…he strode across to the animal, ready to kick the creature in the head until it was dead.

"Dean?"  
Dean froze, staring down at the figure blinking up at him, head rested on the bumpy edge of the road, body curled on the rough grass.

"Sam?"

END FLASHBACK

* * *

Dean gritted his teeth and snatched up Dad's journal. He frantically turned the pages, skim-reading every paragraph, every disjointed sentence, every number jotted in the frayed corners of the pages. He couldn't miss a thing, if there was _anything_ in here that his Dad had written about what could be the cause of Sam's illness all those years ago, Dean had to find it. After ten minutes of fruitless search he threw the journal down onto his bed. He put the heels of his hands to his temples and closed his eyes, "Come on Dean," he hissed.

* * *

Sam frowned through a fog cloaking his senses. Something comforting and numb cradled his brain, making him as sleepy as you can get before you actually fall asleep. 

"Sam,"  
Dean? No, it wasn't his voice. What had just happened? He'd…he'd been chasing wolves. No, he'd been sleeping in that motel. With Dean tapping away at the laptop in the corner. With blood residue all over his skin.

"It's nice to have you back,"  
Sam leapt up, scrambling his weight onto his elbows, "What?"

"It's good to have you back, little brother. Father was worried you were lost forever,"  
Only Dean ever called Sam 'little brother'. He was the only one with any need to call Sam it. But this wasn't Dean. It was a girl, and as Sam blinked away sleep, he could just make her out. Her eyes were big and blue, her hair straight and blonde, hanging long past her shoulders. She wore a faded white dress that reached beneath her knees, with long sleeves and white on the ends.

"How are you feeling? I know you like some soup when you're feeling bad, shall I get you some?"  
"Who are you?"

She cocked her head to one side, "Sammy, I know it's been a long time, but the…the journey made you remember, didn't it? Father planned it, it was meant to remind you of everything you're supposed to know,"  
Sam touched his forehead where an intense pain was slowly decreasing, leaving a warm feeling. He dragged his hand down and scratched an itch on his neck. He expected to feel maybe some flakes of dried blood still there from….he couldn't remember from where though. Why was he expecting to have dried blood on him? He sat up quickly, "Do you have a mirror?"  
"I didn't know you were so vain Sam," the girl sighed. She turned Sam by his shoulders to the wall to their right, where a large antique mirror stared back at him. His skin was clean, almost glowing with life. It surprised him. He…he couldn't remember why, but he wasn't supposed to look like this. He was supposed to look tired and haggard. Sam wore a shirt open about three buttons and plain black trousers, with bare feet. Had he been wearing this before? When was before? Why did he feel like he'd only just arrived? The confusion ebbed away slowly as Sam except what he saw, let the girl talk to him chattily and let himself smile and thank her as she brought up soup. He felt safe, he felt at home. The room was whitewashed, clean and organised and he realised somebody had moved the wardrobe.

"Oh I hope you don't mind, we just thought it blocked less of the light,"

A thought popped into his head, and he looked up quickly.  
"Doesn't father need any help, I'm feeling better,"  
She patted his knee and smiled a white-toothed smile, "You've had a tiring journey Sammy, just eat your soup and get better,"

Sam looked up from the still surface of his steaming soup. It was lumpy and filled with old vegetables and the meat from the family's last dinner. He frowned at her, "Journey? What journey?"  
"Nevermind. Eat up," she chirped, and left the room. Sam shrugged and smiled after her. His sister always cheered him up. And he had been feeling a little tired recently. Not that he could remember why.

* * *

Dean bounced up and down on the balls on his feet. He had to think, he had to concentrate. He swiped up his Dad's journal and stood between the two beds, working through the pages again and again. He reached a page that briefly mentioned their encounters with the wolves, the Shaman that had summoned them and the reasons behind it. Dean brushed back the folded corner of the page and squinted to read the faded pencil marks that made up the tiny scrap of information John Winchester had written down. He glanced up at the corner he had just folded back straight, and caught a glimpse of tiny words, written neatly in biro. 

"Dad," Dean said, shaking his head, "You have _got_ to get a filing system or something,"  
He peered at the page, but even after contorting his face and eyes numerous times, he couldn't quite get all of the letters to form words, nor even figure out what language they were in.

'Could be an incantation,' he thought, as he flung open the motel room door and ran to the reception, his Dad's journal still in his hand.

"Hey,"

The man at the reception desk looked up slowly from his paper, blinking through bottle-end glasses that magnified his eyes about five times.  
"Is there something wrong with your room?"  
"No, no the room's good. Um, do you have a magnifying glass?"  
"Oh yes, I do actually, I used to look at it to read the maps of the area, because in those days, the colours weren't as bright as they are now, and with so many forests and tiny gradient lines-"  
Dean found himself drumming his fingers against the desktop. He almost snatched the old magnifying glass as it was handed over, and scooted down the desk to a quiet area at the end. He pinned down the page with his forefingers and placed the magnifying glass over the tiny words. Grabbing a slot of paper headed with the motel's name, he began to write down what he saw.  
"Are you Ok?"  
He looked up, and the owner peered down at him kindly.  
"Yeah. I'm fine, thanks. Hey...you don't happen to have any black holes in room 67 do you?"  
"Any what?"  
Dean put on a smile, "Nevermind,"  
When he finished, he slid the magnifying glass back to it's owner and trotted back to his room.

* * *

Sam leant back against the pillows. God he felt sleepy. His head rolled to the side and between the blurry lines across his eyes, he could see the flutter of a white dress. His sister, running towards him, followed by a man in dark trousers and tanned skin. They were both encouraging him to stay awake, shoving him, pushing him. Sam fell deeper into sleep, his numb body unable to protest, and the shouts and cries and the encouragements turn to harsh screaming and frantic, hissing cries. Sam was spun into the darkness and he lingered there, unable to move, unable to think very much, apart from muse over what the high pitched chattering, like a tongue clicking at alarming speed was, and where it came from, and why it sounded so angry.

* * *

Motel room 67 was quiet and dimly lit. Dean was hunched over his Dad's journal in the far corner at the round table, mumbling words and letting the breeze from the open window catch them and scatter them to the air. He was lost in a tangle of thoughts that couldn't come together. He thought about humming some Metallica but decided against it. 

"Incan morte dominco forte cespas-" Dean shook his head. It sounded so much like Latin, but it wasn't. He'd cross referenced it with everything he could think of and nothing came up. It wasn't mentioned again in his Dad's journal, there was no translation, and Dean was about to give up. He stuffed his Dad's journal into his coat pocket, grabbed the Chevy's keys, and left the motel room as quick as possible. It was about midday now. The morning had flown by in a streak of constant nausea, a feeling in Dean's stomach that turned his sense of security to mush. Just as he was about to yank open the Chevy door, a cry of "Hey!" rang out into the stiflingly hot air. He glanced up at the owner of the motel, standing on the steps outside the reception area and pointing, mouth and eyes agog, out onto the street. Dean had a moment to wonder how the man got his waistband that far up his torso, before he realised that the man was panicking.  
"What the…what the hell does that boy think he's doing!"  
Dean turned and frowned through the heat waves, looking towards where the older man was pointing to the middle of the road.

"Sam?" Dean breathed.

* * *

AS: It's an angst fest! Review! Please! Thank you. Hope you enjoyed. 


	4. Chapter 4

AS: I did a double. I decided I'd put this up to at the same time, as compensation for not updating in a while.

* * *

FLASHBACK

Dean crouched quickly, grabbing his brother by the arms and lifting him up.

"Sam! Sammy what the hell, where did you go!"  
"I'm cold," the boy gasped, curling into Dean's heat, bundling himself against his brother's chest, "I'm cold,"  
"Alright, it's Ok, I've got you now, it's Ok,"

He turned over his shoulder and bellowed for his father out in the forest.

"I'm thirsty,"  
"Yeah well I'll get you a drink in the minute Sam just…Dad come here!"  
The car ride home was tense. Dean sat in the back with Sam, looking between his Dad and his brother as Sam was stony silent and their Dad was anything but. Sam stared determinedly down at the floor, wrapped in his Dad's and his brother's coats, and shook quietly to himself with a fever. When his Dad's ranting had died down, and they were turning into the motel, Dean leant in closer to Sam, "Sammy? Where did you go?"  
Sam looked up, gasping and panting, "I don't remember. Dean I'm thirsty,"

The motel room was silent for a very long time. John was prepared to go out on an emergency hunt, but even as he packed the bag full of weapons he kept his dark eyes planted firmly on Sam sat on the double bed in the next room.  
"You don't remember a thing, Sammy?"

"No. Nothing. I was up in the tree, and I think I fell asleep. And I woke up on the road. I don't remember anything,"

John slowed his actions, "Sam. If you remember _anything_. You tell Dean or me, you understand?"  
"Yes sir,"  
"Good,"

Dean sauntered in from his Dad's room where he had started cleaning the remaining weapons. His Dad turned to him.  
"Don't forget to lock the doors-"  
"Salt the windows, keep the phone close to me, know where the gun is, and watch over Sammy,"  
John nodded, "Right. You do that Dean,"

In a hurry John scrambled out of the motel room's flimsy front door. Dean sighed and turned the lock.

END FLASHBACK

* * *

In the hours Sam had been missing, Dean hadn't been able to stop thinking. Dean had thought about all the things they'd gone through as kids. The sparring sessions, the way Dean had cooked almost every meal for his brother, the days they'd spend reading up on ways to get rid of poltergeists, the hours out in the fields with targets for practise shooting. The arguments and tears over Sam not wanting to train, the yelling and the slamming doors whenever college was brought up, and the pure stubbornness possessed in all three of the Winchester's making electricity sparkle in the air. He'd thought about it all as if was never going to be able to mention those things to Sam again. As he if wasn't ever going to be able to poke fun at Sam for the times he'd messed up in training and such. As if he wasn't going to be able to call his brother Sammy again and hear the whining about how Sam had grown up now, how he was Sam and not Sammy.

And now, here he was. And those thoughts flooded back into Dean's mind in a completely different light.

"Sam!"

Dean sprinted down the side of the road, just about missing a cab on the closest lane. He dodged the traffic, the shouts of the people in the cars floating through their open windows and sunroofs, the heat blazing off the tarmac and car bonnets.

"Come on get out of the road!" a guy in a pickup truck yelled. Dean ignored him, and the minute he could he grabbed Sam and pulled him close.

"Sam! Sammy!"

Sam blinked through the strands of hair in his eyes. Dean put an arm around his shoulders.

"Get off the fucking road you morons!"

"Come on Sammy,"

The doors of the motel reception area clattered shut behind them, over the shaky cries of the owner, "What were you doing? Are you boys crazy? Running out into the middle of the road like that, you could have gotten yourselves killed!" he pointed a shaky finger out into the road, "That isn't a play area you know!"  
Dean ignored him, pulling Sam towards their room. He opened up the door, and Sam tugged away, sitting down heavily on the edge of his bed. Groaning he put his hands on his head, "Crap,"

Dean stood panting, his shoulders heaving a little as he stared down with wide eyes at Sam. "Sam. Where the _hell_ did you go?"  
"I don't know,"  
"You disappeared. _Again_! What…what the hell, is there some teleport you've got hidden under that mop of hair that I don't know about?"  
"Dean, please," Sam moaned, pressing his hands onto his head, wanting to squeeze the headache out.

A few hours later, and the two Winchester brothers sat in a sort of shocked silence, on their separate beds, staring at the wall opposite. Dean jigged his legs, full of the tense energy that definitely came from their Dad. Sam's was stored somewhere under the skin, brought out under immense pressure like an dormant beast. Sam had plenty of their Dad's characteristics, just he didn't carry them like Dean did.

"This is exactly what happened all that time ago Sam. You disappeared. You came back. You were ill. You disappeared again. You came back. You were ill. Then slowly you got better. And you couldn't remember a thing. Something wants you Sam, and not in a good way,"  
"Where is taking me? How can I suddenly disappear, then reappear?"  
Dean scoffed, "Like the hell I know. Last time it happened, Dad was in the shower and I was in the kitchen. We weren't exactly miles away,"  
"Just like this time,"  
"Yeah,"

* * *

Dean lifted up the newspaper, frowning as he read the text: _MISSING PERSON - Diana Lumley has been missing for the past twelve years now, and new evidence and brought up the re-opening of her case. Before she disappeared, Diana was ill with a fever so bad that she was admitted to hospital. At around 4:00am her parents heard her leave the house, and she wasn't heard from again. _

Dean bit the end of his pen and glanced over at the computer screen. Tapping into a central missing persons website, he searched for people who had gone missing in the area about twelve years ago, and made a long list. A beer sat empty in front of him and he glanced over it's rim to catch a glance of Sam lying stretched out asleep on his bed. Dean had to let a small smile creep onto his face. He looked back to the screen and scrawled down another name.

Sam woke up about two hours after falling to sleep, jerking awake to see the ceiling fan creak round and round above him. He moved his glance over to the corner of his room where Dean was watching him intently from over the top of the laptop.

"What?"

"Are you gonna go back to sleep?"  
Sam sat up slowly, and rubbed his tired eyes.

"No, I'm good,"

He wanted to, but he knew he wouldn't be able to. The combination of the heat, the smell of blood on his pillow that still clung to the material, and the noise of the rustling papers and the keys of the laptop from his brother, all amounted to a very restless sleep anyway. Nevermind the plain freaky dreams he had been having. Not nightmares as such but…odd dreams. He stood up carefully, and grabbed a bottle of water. Sam joined his brother at he rickety brown table and gave the newspapers a once over.

"What are you doing?"  
"Looking up missing persons,"  
"Why?"  
"I'm trying to get to the bottom of this Sam,"

"Oh, yeah," his memory wasn't so good ever since he'd woken up in the middle of that road. He put it down to the lack of sleep.

"Look at this. 19 year old Diana Lumley went missing around the same time as you, when you were ten. It says she'd been ill just before, she had a fever and severe nosebleeds and temporary loss of sight. Then she completely disappeared, off the face of the earth seemingly,"  
"Did she come back?"  
"No. You came back Sam, she didn't,"  
"Anyone else?"  
"Yeah. 45 year old Caleb Tenner. A farmer. He was ill with the same symptoms and disappeared around the same time as Diana Lumley and you,"  
"You think there's a connection?"  
"Yeah, I think we'll call it 'The Connection Of The Century' just to put it into perspective, shall we?"

"Ok, it's pretty obvious there is something. But what is it?"  
Dean snatched the water bottle from Sam's hands and flipped back the cap, "That's the thing," He swigged down two mouthfuls, the plastic of the bottle crackling out of shape.

"We've yet to figure that out. I mean, these people, and there's more than just these two, you included, _all_ go missing after following the same sort of symptoms. Thing is…you come back. And so far, these lot don't,"  
Sam sighed and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, "I don't remember anything Dean, why can't I remember anything? I…I just remember being sick, the night before, going to sleep, then waking up in the middle of the road,"

The room fell silent and Dean began to search again on the laptop. Sam sifted through the newspapers spread out on the table. It was like any other gig on the surface, with the two brothers piling up information and sorting through it all, except further beneath the surface the pair were agitated and completely lost. There was no pattern, there were very few leads. And it was effecting both of them personally.

* * *

"Sam! Sam wake up!"  
Sam woke with surprise when Dean threw the remote control at him.  
"What is it?"  
"Look at the news,"

Sam shifted up to lean against the headboard and watched as the local news kicked in.

"Good evening and this is Summer Ross with the local news. Today a local beauty pageant queen Diana Lumley returned home from her _twelve year_ disappearance, only to brutally murder her entire family. About eight hours ago the police announced that Diana was back home and safe with her family, although suffering with severe amnesia. Yet only two hours later, the police were called to the Lumley house after neighbours heard screaming. They found the bodies of Diana Lumley's entire family, including her parents, her two younger sisters, and older brother. As the police were taking her into custody, Lumley slit her own throat. Another incident, mysteriously similar to this one, also occurred earlier this evening when Caleb Tenner returned back from his own disappearance, and was caught attacking his family. His wife and young daughter died at the seen of the crime, and his teenage son is currently in hospital in a critical condition. It was also said in a statement by the police, that Caleb Tenner killed himself not soon after the police was called, with a gunshot wound to the head,"

Dean gave Sam a haggard look across the room. He reached forward and shut the TV off.  
Sam stared at the crumpled sheets beneath him and shook his head, "They're coming back and killing their families?"

Dean's eyes seemed to be alight with something Sam vaguely recognised from the times Sam had threatened to walk out to college, or when their Mum was brought up.

"They're coming back, killing their families, and then killing themselves. If we're looking at demonic possession…I do not want to meet this demon in a dark alley. Or…anywhere,"

Sam began to cough fitfully as the pair settle down to some more investigating. Dean kept glancing up at him but Sam would give him a 'shut up or be shut up' glare that Dean didn't feel up to arguing with. But soon, it didn't stop.

"Dean. Dean I'm thirsty,"

Dean snatched the water bottle away from Sam and put it down next to the laptop.  
"Come on. Get into bed,"

Sam crawled under the duvet, his skin forming goosebumps with the cold. He tucked his duvet in and groaned into the cool pillow, still marked with red, as a cold spell swept through him.

"I'm cold,"

Dean yanked up the laptop and sat on his own bed, watching Sam closely. He began to draw up as much information on the people who had gone missing on Sam as possible. He was going to get whatever was doing this and pump the bastard full of rock salt. Sam's hands flew to his eyes, "Dean,"  
"It'll pass Sam, it'll pass," Dean said between gritted teeth, scouring the things on the screen.

"What's happening to me Dean?" Sam said in a small voice, and Dean was painfully reminded of the gawky ten year old Sam had been.

"Don't know yet Sam,"  
The television was still on in the background, "The police are interview the only witness to the murders, Diana Lumley's boyfriend Jed Kane, who said he was passing through the neighbourhood at the time,"  
Dean quirked an eyebrow. Maybe it was time to take the charm he was known for and do a bit of ground work.

* * *

AS: REVIEW please! 


	5. Chapter 5

AS: Thanks for the reviews everybody! They are really, really appreciated, honestly, and really fire me up to keep writing this story, so keep 'em coming. I get what you mean **Bethany16**, the lay out isn't so good. I can't figure it out though, leaving a line between each sentence just looks stupid and I cant differentiate paragrpahs then. sigh ill figure it out one day

Enjoy!

* * *

"Jed Kane?"

"Yeah,"

"I'm Detective Hanover," Dean flashed his fake police officer badge, "I've come to ask you a few questions about what happened to your  
girlfriend, Diana,"

Jed's jaw clenched tightly and his eyes flickered a little, "I thought you'd asked all your questions, I mean…"

"I know Sir and I'm sorry for bringing these questions up again, but there's been some new evidence and I'd just like to ask you a few

more questions,"

"Yeah," Jed nodded, eyes squinting against the sun, "Um…sure, come in,"

Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam, asleep in the passenger seat of the Chevy. When Sam had fallen into deep sleep, Dean had been

leant the seat back as far as it could go so that Sam could be comfortable. Leaving Sam alone in the car…leave Sam alone period, was

beginning to freak Dean out a little. His brother had been snatched right from under his nose once before, and from on a branch above

him earlier on. Leaving him out alone in the car asleep made Dean's stomach crawl. Sure he wasn't going to become a Sammy-limpet, but  
he wasn't going to take any risk.

"No, it's Ok, this won't take a minute,"

"Oh. Alright then,"

The sun still had the morning brightness to it, slanting down and glinting off the white-painted porch. The neighbourhood was neat and

tidy, with a school bus parked on the edge of the road, a trickle of kids piling on. Further down the road a man wearing a sun hat and

baggy yellow shorts was standing on his front lawn, hands on hips, watching them. A woman in a tight-fitting tracksuit race-walked

around the bend at the end of the road, holding a small daschund on a lead. Dean realised how glad he was to grow up in the way he did.  
As he'd expressed before; living in a place where everything was happy-happy and dinner always at six o' clock, would probably have

driven him to suicide.

"So, you said you were passing through the neighbourhood at the time?"

"Yeah," Jed sighed, quietly. He looked very different from the picture sent out of him and Diana at a birthday party when she had first

gone missing. Granted that was twelve years ago, but his face looked hollow, lost and desperate. Dean remembered a similar expression

carved into his Dad's face just after their Mum had died.

"Did you see Diana at all?"

"Yeah," he sniffed ,"I saw her,"

"And was there anything strange about her appearance? Um…odd coloured eyes, disfigurements in her limbs?"

"What?" Jed seemed broken from his mourning reverie for a moment, "No. Why the hell would she look like that?"

Dean shrugged, "It's just a question Sir. Was there _anything_ at all unusual about her?"

Jed's sad, watery smile returned and his gaze moved far-away, "She hadn't aged a day,"

Dean raised his eyebrows, and pursed his lips in thought. By the time Jed had looked back, Dean's face had shifted back into sincere and  
earnest interest.

"Alright, thank you for your cooperation Sir. We may drop back in time but for now: thank you for your time,"

Dean gave him a curt nod and turned away.

"Hey!"

Jed was pointing to the car.

"Is that your partner?"

Dean looked over his shoulder at Jed, then to Sam slumped fast asleep in the car.

"Oh…yeah, it is,"

"He alright?"

"Just had a nasty case of the flu. Insisted on coming back on the job though. Being as stubborn as he is,"

"He's a bit young to be a detective," Jed looked thoughtful, "In fact, so are you. My uncle wasn't a detective until he was like forty. You

guys look a little young,"

Dean paused, then broke out a big grin, "Well thank you Sir,"

He quickly made his way to the Chevy and opened up the driver's door. Jed disappeared into his house, obviously puzzled.

"Pst,"

Dean turned towards the sound, only to come face to face with the man in the yellow shorts. His advance must have been concealed by  
the school bus moving off. Dean jumped in shock and pulled away, "Whoa!-"

"Are you from the police?"

Dean, still a bit surprised, nodded, "Yes, I am,"

"You investigating those murders? The ones in the Tenner and Lumley family?"

"Yes. Why do you want-?"

"It's tragic," the man said, nodding his head. It seemed disproportionate to his rather round body, with a square chin and a seemingly tiny

forehead despite the lack of hair on his head. Dean took a guess of his age, and hit at about eighty five, "You know what it reminds me

of?"

The guy was getting unnervingly close to Dean. It wasn't like he had bad personal space issues, but when it was invaded by a topless old

man in baggy yellow shorts and funny-looking teeth, he was a little stand-offish.

"Um, no, I don't, what?"

"That man. That man that died all them years ago,"

"Really?"

"Oh yes. I remember it well. Well, I wasn't born at the time, but I remember my Grandfather and my father telling me the story. I saw all

the newspapers clippings too. The Tea Murders,"

"Tea Murders?"

"That's what they called it. See, Daniel Tea was a farmer around these parts. He owned the stretch of land that they built that next street

of houses on. And-"

"Grandpa!"

A young woman had appeared on the lawn the elderly man had occupied earlier. She was waving her hand, "Come on Grandpa! We're

going to sing happy birthday to Molly! Come on!"

A grin broke out on the old man's face, "Oh yes. My great-granddaughter's first birthday party. I'd better be off,"

"Whoa-whoa-whoa, wait," Dean caught his arm, "The Tea Murders? What happened?"

"Tea Murders?" the man frowned, "What? I've got to go and sing happy birthday, I need to be going young man,"

He hurried away, and disappeared into the house. Dean stared after him, completely confused.

"You scaring old people now Dean?" came a familiar voice from inside the Chevy.

Dean ducked down to look into the car. "You awake?"

"Yeah,"

Sam sat up with difficultly, probably not anticipating he had been laying so far back, "How'd I get down here?"

"I let the release on the chair put it right back,"

"Oh. How long have I been asleep?"

"About an hour,"

Sam pulled his coat that Dean had put over the top of him off.

"You feeling any better?" Dean enquired as he got into the car and started the engine.

"What? Oh, yeah,"

Sam squinted through the bright morning sunshine and tried to scrabble some annoying strands of hair from his eyes. Dean watched him,

shaking his head a little.

"What?"

"You seriously need a hair cut,"

"Shut up,"

* * *

FLASHBACK

John tilted his beer bottle and took the last swig of the lukewarm drink, keeping his eyes on the man across the red table from him. The

guy smiled nervously, his thin face with too much skin, becoming craggier as the movement of his lips pressed the white skin into folds on

his cheeks and forehead.

"We done, John?"

"No,"

"John, look, I told you, what I got isn't amazing. I'm sure you could have dug it up somehow,"

"I'm all the way over here, and your information comes from Miami. Now tell me,"

The guy rested his head against his hand, propping his elbow up onto the tabletop. He looked down at the perfect hole at the top of the

beer bottle.

"Yeah. Sure. But this could take a while. There's a list of missing persons,"

After the little meeting with Terry, John pushed open the door of the diner and trotted down the steps to the car park. The sky was

overcast and the sun strangled into submission. Evening was setting. He reached in for his cell-phone in his jeans pocket, and checked the  
display. No missed calls, no messages waiting for him. A good sign that Sam was doing Ok back at the motel. He wished he could trust

the blank face of his cell, but after years of hunting and research the creatures that went bump in the night, John rarely felt entirely safe. He  
felt a little nauseous after the smell of fat in the fryers and the layers of egg and gravy stains on the table top. He took a moment to take in

a lungful of fresh air, and then headed away from the diner.

Once in the car, John grabbed a pen from the dashboard, and opened up a small compartment between the seats. Inside was tucked

away his precious journal. He lifted it out and began to write on a scrap of paper he had reserved for this case, stapled by a half-snapped  
staple to the corner of the middle page.

------

John talked at length with Pasteur Jim on the phone. He scratched his stubbly chin and glanced into the lounge, where Sam and Dean

were watching something on the television. They rarely fought for the remote, seeing as they weren't particularly bothered about the small

insignificant TVs with a limited number of channels that were usually hidden in a corner of their motel rooms. If they did fight for it, it was

usually just so that they could have something their brother didn't, or maybe because Sam wanted to watch cartoons and Dean felt too

old for that now.

"You still there John?"

"Yeah, I'm still here Jim,"

"Well, I've told you everything I know about demons that might infect people. It doesn't sound good,"

"No I know it doesn't. He seems to be getting better though,"

"That's good. Oh by the way John, before you go, I've got a story here I think you may be interested in,"

"Really?"

"Yes. A five year old called Jake Tyne. Had similar symptoms to the ones Sammy's seems to have now. He disappeared not long ago,"

John sat up a little in his chair. He dug his journal from his coat pocket and opened it onto the page he'd got all of the information he'd

drummed up so far on. Heading the scrappy piece of paper was a long list of the people Terry had given him at the diner a few days ago,

along with their missing dates. He couldn't see a Jake Tyne on there.

"How long ago?"

"The fifth,"

"That's a week ago,"

"Yes it is,"

John scrawled it down, "Ok. Thanks Jim,"

"You think you got something?"

John paused and took another look into the lounge, where Dean and Sam were squirming over the remote on the beaten sofa, "Maybe.

Bye Jim,"

John put down his cell and began to work at the list of names.

------

John had ink all over his fingers. He stared at the list a little longer, then crossed another off. He was left with five people. Caleb Tenner,

Diana Lumley, Jake Tyne, Lilly Carter, and a baby Roseanne Berkshire. He scrubbed his hands clean under the tap, and went to check

on the boys. They were sprawled out on the double bed, Dean on his stomach like he usually was, one arm thrown out almost over Sam's

chest, who lay peacefully on his back with one leg crooked up in front of him. The sheets had been stripped from their bodies and kicked

in a tangled lump at the bottom of the bed. John picked up the list again and regarded his youngest son's still form. He was so like the

disappeared, seemingly doomed people on this bit of paper. Ill with the same symptoms, and he had even disappeared like them. With

only one difference separating him: he had come back. And John wasn't about to take the chance he had been given to protect his son,

and throw it away

END FLASHBACK

* * *

The diner not far from the motel seemed a good place to be. It got them out of the stuffy motel room, and Dean's head seemed to be a

little clearer out here in the sunshine. Although that same factor just seemed to make Sam's head even worse. He was wearing Dean's

sunglasses and cradling his head in his hands, trying not to make it obvious he had a splitting headache. The blindness had worn off a long

time ago, his shivering had slowly waned, and the nosebleed he'd had just before they left the hotel had stopped pretty quickly. And now

he was left with a simple skull-cracking headache. Dean flicked a page of their Dad's journal over, read, then flipped back again.

"What are you doing?"

"Try'na find something,"

"What?"

Dean flicked between the two pages again.

"Do you notice anything strange about this?"

"What? The journal? Course I do Dean, it's Dad's,"

"No, look, I mean about these two pages,"

Sam squinted through the sunglasses as Dean turned the book to face Sam and scooted it over, "Look," he tapped the page at the

bottom, where a sentence had been started. Sam read it aloud:

"'A list of people who have also disappeared'," he frowned and looked a little closer. Underneath the underlined sentence was a letter,

which had been scribbled out, as if John had started something but had realised he hadn't enough room.

"Now look at the next page,"

Sam read the beginning of the next page, headed WRAITHS. Sam frowned. He'd read the page before. It had nothing to do with missing  
people,but of water wraiths in Hawaii.

"It's got nothing to do with it,"

"Exactly. I think this might be something to do with the people that went missing the same time as you Sam, the ones that we were

investigating a day ago. You know, Diana Lumley, and Caleb Tenner,"

"Yeah," Sam said, something hard in his voice, "The ones that came back and murdered,"

"Yeah, them," Dean had registered the note in Sam's voice, but ignored it. Sam gritted his teeth, then let the bad feeling past and took the

laptop from it's bag.

"I'm going to do some research on Diana's death. You said her old boyfriend said she still looked nineteen?"

"That's what he said: she hasn't aged a die,"

"And this was before you started scaring off an eighty year old man,"

"Hey, I didn't scare him off, Ok? He was telling me this weird story, then left,"

"Weird story?"

Dean nodded, biting his lip. "Ok, give me that,"

He snatched the laptop from Sam's grasp and opened it up, "You go through the journal again, try to find that list. I need to look

something up. Dad may have stapled it in or something, it could be slotted in at the back or stuck between two sheets. He never could

glue properly. You had to do it for him, if you remember,"

"No, but I'll take your word for it,"

The two fell into silence as they went to their separate tasks. A waitress came over twice to ask them if they needed anything, and both

times they ordered something to eat and drink. Sam felt a little better for eating, in fact he was glad his appetite was coming back. During

those fleeting episodes where he just had to drink water, and as much as possible, he never ate a thing, and came out hungry.

"Hey, I got that paragraph you mentioned Dad wrote. But it just lists the symptoms I had. There's this small writing above it though-"

"Doesn't make any sense. When you did your last disappearing act I wrote it all out and tried to figure out what the hell it was going on

about,"

"And did you?"

"I didn't even find what language it was in Sam. Either Dad had had too much to drink or he found something from a _long_ time ago,"

The silence settled again. Again, Sam broke it, "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Dean looked up from a newspaper article headed: The Tea Murders.

"I don't think we're going to find anything Dad wrote about what happened to me,"

"What? Why?"

Sam held up the pages of the journal that they had been looking at earlier. He tapped the page opposite the list heading, write in the

corner. There were two puncture marks, and the lasting fragment of a staple, "Dad must have stapled all the information in. And either he

ripped it out, or it fell out. There's no telling where's it gone, 'cos it's not slotted in at the back or front,"

Dean bit his lip, "God Dad. I told him he should get a filing cabinet or something!"

"So what do we do now? Dad obviously had something, but we can't get a hold of it,"

"Yeah," Dean sighed, rubbing his head. He glanced back at the computer screen, "Look, we'll call it a day. Get some rest, then maybe

we'll go hustle some pool tonight. 'Cos I seriously need a drink,"

Sam watched as his brother shoved their Dad's journal away.

"Dean?"

"Yeah,"

"What were you looking at on the laptop?"

Dean's hand went to the top of the screen and he shut it quickly, "Nothing," his face was passive and smooth, with a small hint of a

reassuring smile. Sam nodded slowly and put the laptop back in it's case. Dean gave him a grin and went to pay for their drinks with one

of his many fake credit card. Sam didn't see it, but his face dropped and hardened the minute he turned away from the table.

* * *

AS: REVIEW! I hope you liked it, cos I really liked writing this chapter….don't know, why, I just did. Review please! 


	6. Chapter 6

**ASenorita**: Hey! Sorry I haven't updated in so long. First, I hurt my elbow, and my parents banned me from the computer because it just made it worse. _Then_ I went to London to stay with my uncle for a little while, so, and my computer-ban was still on. When I came back, my elbow was better, and so I've updated as soon as possible.

Anyway, thank you for ALL the reviews I've been getting. I've decided next time, to answer/thank people individually, by the way.

Enjoy.

* * *

Sam slotted his fingers into the wire mesh fence. The forest beyond him was dark and uninviting, a solid block of black broken by the occasional slash of nut-brown tree trunk or flicker of dirty green leaves. Sam searched what he could see, trying to remember that fateful night years ago. He clenched his teeth and furrowed his brow.  
"Sam!" 

Sam leapt a mile in the air. Along with the shout, Dean had flicked on the front lights of the Chevy, throwing Sam and the once-dark forest into a bathe of bright white light. Sam flung his hand over his eyes, "Dean!"  
"What! Oh, sorry,"

He dimmed them, and stepped out of the car, "Sorry. I didn't realise they were on that bright,"  
"Why are they on at all?" Sam hissed, snatching the wire cutters dangling from Dean's hand.  
"Why not? Nothing wrong with trying to see what you're doing,"  
"Yeah, but there's something vaguely unsafe about letting everyone else see what we're doing,"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Relax, Sammy, no-ones come near this forest in years. Even the hunters that wanted a slice of the action. They stopped being brave enough a long time ago,"  
Sam shook his head, "Just…don't attract anything to us,"

Dean held his hands up as a sign of peace and went back to the Chevy to grab the weapons. The lights shut off and Sam began to work at the wire by the moonlight.

The Winchester boys were parked just outside the forest's grounds. They had decided, for the sake of their investigation and to link at  
least some things that happened in the past to what was going on, to go back to the forest when the 'ball of light', as it was dubbed now, first attacked them. The place Sam first went missing. Both had been tetchy and irritable all day. No leads, no solid evidence, no memories from Sam, no useful information from any police systems they managed to hack into. Nothing. And Sam knew there was something Dean was hiding from him. After breakfast he'd walked in on Dean feverishly reading something on the laptop screen, only to shut the whole thing down the minute Sam made his appearance known. The jovial: Hey Sam, got your latte and croissant?', just lathered with innocence, didn't work on Sam either. They were brothers. He knew exactly when Dean was hiding something. He just had to find out what.

Dean soon rejoined him at the fence, arms and body slung with salt-toting guns and their Dad's journal.

"What we looking for then?" Sam asked, as he finished off the hole.

"A big mound. All burnt out, surrounded by Shaman wooden symbols, stuff like that. It's in a little dip in the earth,"

The search went on for two hours, before the midge bites, droning insects, heat and weight of their weapons, began to slow the Winchester boys down. Eventually, they grounded to a halt in a tiny clearing, where four trees in a perfect square kept back the sticky, pressing vegetation, and allowed some of the biggest flying things of the forest get a good wing stretch and swoop up to their tree-top nests. Sam sat down heavily on the mossy ground, not caring if his body was about to become a bus ride for a creepy-crawly. Dean crouched down just in front of him, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"This heat-" he trailed off, and went back to cooling himself down. They drank water and killed bugs to pass the next ten minutes.

"We've got to keep looking,"  
"Why?"  
"If what happened all those years ago, has got _anything_ to do with the Shaman burial ground, or that tree, or just this forest in general, we've got to check it out," Dean explained, taking a swig from his water bottle, "And anyway, it might help you remember,"  
"I don't remember anything Dean,"  
"Yeah, well, you may do,"  
"Do we even know where we are?"  
"Sure we do,"

Dean pointed to the map stuck under his arm, "We're not far, I don't think. We just took a bit of a detour when you fell over that tree stump,"  
Sam gave him a passing glare and inspected the forest around them. The air was cooler here, in this small box-shaped clearing, the moon allowing them to see a little deeper between the trees. The sounds around them were still a little unnerving, but oddly far away.

"Dean?"  
"Uh-huh,"  
"Is it….this part of the forest here…is it just me or is it…."  
Dean looked up from where he had been studying the map with the torch, "Is it what, Sam?" he asked carefully, watching Sam's expression.

"I don't know…it's just…calming,"  
"Calming?"  
"Yeah. You know. Sort of tranquil,"

Dean paused, then gave their small space a quick once-over, "Um…not really," his hand went for a mosquito on his knee. Whilst Sam was still trying to figure out the meaning of the feeling, Dean got out a pen and put a cross over where they were sat now. He scanned the map, and put another cross down.

"I think I know where it is,"  
"Really?"  
"Yeah. Come on, this way,"

They hauled themselves to their feet and set off into the airless, sweaty darkness.

Half an hour later, they reached the part of the map marked by a cross.

"That's it," Dean pointed. He dropped his bag and hopped down the small ledge, onto the soft ground. Sam did likewise.

"This is where you burnt the ground?"  
"Yeah. Whole thing went up in flames,"  
"Where was I?"  
Dean circled the ground, scrutinizing the trees around it, "You were…up here,"

He pointed upwards at the tree he'd stopped at the base of. Sam moved over quickly, and put a hand on the rough bark.

"How high up was I?"  
"Not far up,"  
"You could still hear me?"

"Yeah. Until you went all silent and…gone,"

Sam took a step back, studied the small lower branches, then leapt upwards, catching a stronger branch and hauling himself up.

"Sam! Sammy what are you-"

"Just keep a look out,"  
Dean stared up at the disappearing figure of his long-limbed brother clambering up the tree. He looked around him at the bristling forest. Sam was just about nearing the biggest branch, one that curved from where it came out of the trunk. He hung for a moment by his arms then slung, and pushed himself onto the sturdy arm.

"You look like a gibbon," Dean whispered loudly.

* * *

FLASHBACK 

John stared up at the tree, a gun in one hand and the other essential hidden about his body. He tucked the gun away, and reached up to grab the first branch. He heaved himself up into the tree and left the crawling forest floor. Guessing was the best way of doing this, he had figured out not long ago. He estimated where abouts Sammy had probably been sat, and sat himself on a branch at approximately the right height. A smell caught his senses, a smell that made him cheer and groan simultaneously inside his heat-addled mind. He wiped the sweat from his face, letting himself adjust to the new altitude and his body plant itself firmly on the branch. The last thing he needed was falling and breaking his back. He didn't fancy being wild-animal-chow.

The smell of sulphur made his head reel but steadily, he took out a knife from it's sheath, a plastic vile from his pocket, and began to scrape the small grey lumps of sulphur from the branches around him into it. John knew it was sulphur, just by the smell and look, but taking a sample was what he always did, and he was going to do it this time to. No exceptions. He had to do everything he could to help Sam.

END FLASHBACK

* * *

"Dean!"  
Dean jumped up from where he had been studying the map and peered up the tree, "Yeah?"  
"Where abouts was I?" 

Dean took a step back and thought for a moment, "Um…yeah, about there. Do you remember anything?"  
"No,"

Sam sat astride the branch, not liking whatever was cooing and cawing about a metre above him but deciding to ignore it anyway. He put a hand on the bark in front of him and ran it around the bottom. This part was hotter than the rest, as if it had been recently scorched. He wrapped his legs tighter, then leant forward and leant around the branch to look at it's underside.

"Sam what are you doing!"  
Sam ran his fingers over the marks on the underside of the branch. The closer he got to them, the more that vague smell began to form a clear identity in his head.

"Dean there's sulphur up here,"  
"Really?"  
"Yeah, on the branches. There's not much of the actual sulphur left…" Sam scratched at a bit of the dark residue, "But there's marks and the smell,"

"Grab some then,"

Sam drew out the knife from where it had been sheathed to his side, and pulled himself back up sitting on the tree. The world heaved to the left, in one massive, blurring spin. He gripped onto the tree with weakened hands, and the knife half slid from his grasp. Sam closed his eyes but it only made him worse.

"You got some?"  
Sam didn't dare open his mouth. He sat as still as possible, staring hard at the bark in front of him, trying to right everything that just seemed to have spun out of control.

"Sam what the hell is going on up there?"  
"Nothing," he finally hissed back down, "It's just…nothing,"  
"You remember anything?"  
"No. It's just…hot and I'm high up,"  
"Well whatever you do, don't fall down. That's the last thing I need,"

Sam rolled his eyes and decided to try and find a different branch to get sulphur from. If he hung from there any longer he _would_ fall out of the tree, and he doubted Dean was paying enough attention to catch him.

The sulphur marks ran all the way around the trunk, so he began to work steadily on collecting the left over flakes from them, whilst down below, Dean worked on the map and poked around the Shaman burial ground, a gun on hand at all times.

"Sam?"  
"What?"  
"You still there?"  
"Yes, Dean, I'm still here,"

Forty five minutes later, Sam joined Dean investigating around the burial ground. The mound was black and charred, the leaves around it looking untouched since twelve years ago.

"So…what happened to that thing that you said attacked us in the car?" Sam said, as he searched for more sulphur residue, "Dad shot it I think. We ran into the forest, Dad caught up with us, and we came here and burnt this guy to the ground,"  
"Did Dad have any idea what it was?"  
"At first, we thought it was something to do with the Shaman. But…" Dean shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know. It just doesn't seem right. What was a big ball of light with lots of tentacles doing for the Shaman,"  
"So it wasn't the Shaman himself,"  
"If it was, he would have been able to do more than just ooze itself over the car windows,"  
Sam sighed and went back to work. More dead ends, more cold trails. Nothing led to anything in this case.

* * *

FLASHBACK 

John jumped the last stretch and hit the floor hard. He staggered for a moment before eventually gaining his bearings. Quickly, he swiped up all of his stuff, and left the clearing.

Back at the truck, as he was packing everything away, the night began to turn cold. He lit up his watch and inspected at the digits. Three in the morning. Funny time for the temperature to drop, what with the sun not far away and everything. Cautiously, he rounded the truck, and stared back into the forest. If something was out there, something completely unconnected with that Shaman and therefore something he hadn't yet killed, he would get it one day. He turned his back slowly on the forest and got into the truck.

On the way back to the motel, John turned on the radio and the annoying, needling blast of an early morning radio show host burst from the speakers. He spun the volume down, glaring at the road and assuming Dean had been listening to music in the truck recently, before realising what the guy was talking about.

"Yeah kids, the forest isn't for games, it's spooooky," he played some cheap, Scooby-Doo-like horror music with a howling wolf and fake screams, "And the police are all urging all kids _not_ to do dares involving the forest at all. A number of people have been injured whilst visiting in that forest and it is _not _a play area. There's been a lot of creepy goings on in there and kids, if you're listening, don't even think about spending your Halloween there!"  
John switched the radio off. The man might as well just have invited every kid in the nearby vicinity to hop down there for a night of fun. Having two boys of his own, John knew exactly how children reacted to being told not to do something.

But that bulletin was more interesting than at face-value. He already knew that the forest were renowned for it's danger, particularly up until the Winchesters had arrived, thanks to those wolves. But maybe the forest wasn't just a drop-off for whatever had taken Sam that night. Maybe it was it's home, it's den, it's grounds, it's building block to start off on. If John had the guts he'd burn the entire forest down to get at it, but he knew he couldn't do that. He swung into the car park of the motel, his lights momentarily lighting up the Winchester's room window. John hopped out, tired and overworked. It looked like the forest was another lead in the tangle.

END FLASHBACK

* * *

"Sam look at this,"  
Dean beckoned his brother over and pointed to the map. Sam lifted it up closer to his face.  
"What is it?"  
"Look at what I've drawn,"  
Drawn on the map, was a perfect equilateral triangle. One point, was at the small clearing Sam had claimed to felt calm in. Another point was where Dean had worked out their car had been parked twelve years ago when the ball of light had attacked them. And the third point was where the boys stood now, at this clearing. 

"A perfect triangle,"  
"Exactly,"

"Well, the forest is where I got sick. So…maybe there's something in this triangle that infected me or something,"  
Dean nodded, standing up, "Right. We'll trawl through, see what we can find, but we may have to come back in the morning to find the small details-"  
"Hey!"

The brothers swung around to the thin beam of torchlight bursting from the top of the small bank above the mound.

"Guys, somebody's already knicked our camping space!"

A high-school girl, of about sixteen or seventeen, wearing baggy pants and a sleeveless top, covered in midge bites. She was holding a can of beer in one hand and a torch in the other. A guy appeared over her shoulder, staggering a little, holding a six pack. His mouth fell open a little and his eyebrows were raised, "Whoa! Crap! What the hell-"

Then he began to laugh, smirking, "Ooh, two guys, alone in a wood, maybe we should leave them too it Carla,"

The girl cackled unattractively. A group formed in the eerie darkness behind them, sloppily laboured with rucksacks and camping equipment…and a hell of a lot of beer.  
"A bunch of high school kids in a dangerous forest," Dean muttered from the corner of his mouth, "_That's_ gonna go downwell,"

"Look, you gonna camp here?" Sam asked.  
"Yeah. It's a 'Scare Night'," the guy at the front nodded his head slowly as if he'd just explained itself, "We spend a night our here,"  
"Yeah, well, we're going anyway," Dean said, giving Sam a look and jumping up out of the dip for the mound.

Sam followed, slowly, as Dean marched off into the forest. He watched the kids jump down to the burial ground, and begin to, drunkenly, put up their tents.

Sam had to jog to catch up with his older brother.  
"Dean?"

"Uh-huh?"  
"Do you think…you think those kids are safe?"  
Dean looked over his shoulder, "What?"  
"Those kids. I mean…are they safe, what happens if that thing…"  
Dean gave a long, loud groan and let his arms drop to his side, "Sam…"  
"Dean-"  
"Look, I know, this is a dangerous forest, but we can't-"  
"Dean!"  
"What!"  
Dean paused, suddenly noticing how rigid Sam was stood, a hand over his face.

"What's wrong?"  
Sam pulled his hand away to swap it for the other, his palm and fingers covered in a dark flow.  
"Oh God, Sam! Why now!"  
"I don't plan it, Dean!"  
"Yeah, I know, lets just get out of here,"

They eventually found the Chevy where they had parked it outside the fence. By that time, Sam was shaking violently with cold, already forming the words 'I'm thirsty' on his lips. Dean bundled him into the car, gave the forest a final passing glare, and drove them back to the motel.

* * *

Sam was still asleep. It was 2:48 in the morning, and Dean's research wasn't going anywhere. The minute they had got home from the forest, Dean had spent around four hours trying to get Sam to warm up to a decent temperature. He forced Sam to only drink from the small cup, and only when he gave to him, careful to always fill it up only half way. Woozy from the nosebleed and tired from the constant shaking, Sam had fallen into a long, deep sleep, that stretched out over the next eight hours or so. He lay wrapped up in his bed's sheets, chest rising and falling deeply, face passive and calm.

Dean tapped into the webpage he'd been reading before Sam brought their breakfast in that day:

_**The Tea Murders**_

_On the fifth of this month, the bodies of Daniel Tea, his wife, brother, two sons and two daughters were found at Tea Farm, just West of the Old Main Bridge. The local police had to break down the door, which was barred with wooden beams and nails from the outside, before discovering the bodies. The police said of the murders: "They are a mystery. All of the doors and windows were barred, so we do not know how this man got into the house, killed the family, and then managed to escape,"_

_The police have warned the families in the nearby area to 'keep alert' for this killer. They say the man could be a convict from the nearby jail, or from the mental asylum -_

Sam coughed and rolled over. Dean watched him carefully for a few moments, then slowly went back to the article.

_People in the surrounding area were urged to be vigilant, and not to wander in the late night hours. The police also suggested checking the locks on all doors and windows. _

_Not much is known of the family themselves, although Daniel Tea's eldest daughter Marjorie was said to be a popular model for the budding and acclaimed artists of the nearby art school. _

Dean blinked through the smudge of light from a moon dripping with an ethereal glow. He began to feel a sickness crawling about in his stomach. Daniel Tea's daughter: a beautiful model. Diana Lumley: a beauty pageant queen.

Anxiously he began to type in' Daniel Tea + family', to every search engine that would be appropriate. He sucked on his teeth and began to scrawl down everything that came up.

"Dean?...Dean!"  
"What?" Dean grumbled. He blinked open an eye, and was faced with the light, fake wood of the motel room table. He sat up, wiping at the corner of his mouth. Sam was staring at him from his bed, one eyebrow quirked.

"Please don't tell me you've been _drooling_ all over the laptop,"  
"The table, actually," Dean retorted, before he realised what he'd said. He glared at Sam ruefully and began to busy himself shutting the laptop down. He realised Sam was still staring at him.  
"_What_!"

"Nothing, it's just that you must have been on that all night,"  
Dean shrugged, "So? Can't a guy concentrate on what he's doing? I'm just trying to get to the bottom of this Sam,"  
"Alright," Sam held his hands up as a sign of peace, "I'm just saying, "

He wound his way between the two beds and tucked himself behind the table next to Dean. Dean shut the laptop smoothly.  
"Got nothing though,"  
Sam paused, "O...Ok then. Well, I've been trying to find that list of Dad's, through all the stuff he's given us over the past few years, but there's nothing. So, I've started a list of our own,"

He pushed the pad of paper over to Dean. The top of the list read, in Sam's neat handwriting:

A List of People who have Also Disappeared

Diana Lumley, 19

Caleb Tenner, 45

Lilly Carter, 39

"These people went missing around the same time as you did? With the same symptoms,"  
The names didn't seem so innocent now.  
"Yeah. I mean, I know we've always had a list of people but it's been pretty basic. This is specific. They had the same as me _to the letter_, apart from not coming back for a long time. I think I've got another one here, too: Roseanne Berkshire. A baby,"  
Dean rubbed his face, then threw himself back in his chair,

"Man this isn't making any sense! As far as we can tell, these people have no connections, no ties to each other at all. Then, they all get sick, and randomly disappear, assumingly to the same place. And so far, two of them have come back and murdered their families, before killing themselves. Now are we expecting the others to, or not?"

"It would follow the pattern,"

"There is no pattern," Dean muttered into his hands. "And then there's you Sam. I mean…you _didn't_ disappear totally back then, you got better, and suddenly years later you're back in the loop. Getting sick, disappearing. But you still don't disappear for good. The minute you get back, the people who have been missing for twelve years suddenly reappear, and wreak murder and mayhem! God, Sam, this is getting sad! We've got all this evidence, and none of it fits! We haven't even got on to what's doing this yet! How it's doing this to you and these people?"  
"Dean I'm just as confused as you-"  
"Good, or I might start seeing the attraction of high education-"  
"But we've only really just got started on this. We're just going to have to do some more ground-work. Maybe we can take another look at the forest, or just work on the stuff we got from last night,"  
Dean regarded his brother silently.

"Your calm scares me, Sammy,"  
"Yeah, well, your sleeping habits scare me," Sam said, shaking his head, "I'm going to have a shower. We'll head off to the forest afterwards if you want,"

"Sure," Dean called distractedly.

He bit his lip. Ok. He'd lied. Maybe he had a bit more evidence that he had initially acknowledged. And…maybe it was starting to make a little more sense than he'd really let on…

* * *

**ASenorita**: Hope you liked it! Don't let it confuse you, just go with the flow, all will be revealed! So, next time, Dean gets a bit further with his 'theories', and they see how the little camping trip the night before went. 


	7. Chapter 7

**AS: **I decided to write this chapter like this because I thought Sam has been pretty battered recently, and Dean has had to pick up the slack. So this time, I thought I'd change the more vulnerable person…

This chapter doesn't exactly go forward with the clues which I think I've pushed in a bit fast. But I hope you enjoy.

* * *

Sam lay heavily on his bed, still feeling the effects of recovering from his latest fit. He had eaten a mouthful of toast that morning and that was about it, but a nausea still clung to his stomach and wouldn't shift. In the bathroom, Dean was bellowing AC/DC, using the shower taps as a souped-up drum kit. Today already seemed way too long for Sam's liking. Being up so early had messed up his internal clock and now he couldn't decide whether this achy feeling in his had was tiredness of just the result of feeling ill. The shower was shut off and Dean appeared wrapped in a white towel that brought the deep tan all the sun had given him. A cascade of steam followed him, as dense as if from a smoke machine.  
"No more hot water left then?" Sam asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Nah, there should be some left,"  
Sam heaved himself dizzily up form the bed and entered the sauna-hot bathroom. Dean watched his brother go, and let a small melancholy sigh slip out between his lips. He wanted Sam to be better. He wanted this whole thing to blow over, or be solved, or _anything_ positive to happen.

Dean dropped his towel and began to get dressed. He was just fishing a t-shirt from the bottom of his bag when a 'ahem' came from the room's doorway. Dean jumped, startled and looked up. A twelve or thirteen year old girl was stood at the open door, wearing a red baseball cap that covered dirty blonde hair. Her mouth was slightly open. Dean gave a little squirm on the spot.  
"Um…"  
"I didn't see anything," she explained, regaining her composure and putting a hand on one hip.

"Oh…good," Dean mumbled, frozen where he stood.

"So…you staying long?" she asked, flicking some hair behind her ear. Dean would have whimpered if he had the courage.

'_Please_ don't tell me an twelve year old is flirting with me!'

He grabbed his pants and shimmied them on, trying to regain some dignity and sense, "Can I help you?"  
"Yeah. Sure. My Granddad owns this place and says your credit card is maxed out,"  
"Maxed out?"  
"Yeah,"  
"Oh…Ok then," he gave an affirmative nod and put his hands on his hips, "Right then. Well…thank you," she nodded slowly. Dean gave an awkward laugh.  
"Um…could you go now, please? And knock next time,"

She nodded mutely and left, leaving the door wide open behind her. Dean scampered forward and slammed the door shut.

A burst of laughter erupted from behind him. Sam, wrapped in a towel, with his clothes hanging from his right hand, was stood in the bathroom door with a delighter grin on his face, "Let me get this straight. You've got a new grandfather figure in the form of that old man you scared the other day, and _now_, a thirteen year old girlfriend!"  
"That's sick," Dean glared, yanking on his t-shirt, "You saw all that?"  
"I think the question, Dean, is actually: did _she_?"

"She didn't see anything, Ok?" Dean snapped. Sam just sniggered. After a moment, when he re-emerged from the bathroom looking both cheered up and awake, he asked, "What did she want, anyway? Before putting you up as a candidate to be arrested for indecent exposure,"

Dean ignored the comment and began to pack the stuff for the forest trip up, "She says her gramps owns this place. He's saying my credit card's maxed out,"

"Maxed out?"  
"Yeah,"

Sam's mouth fell open, "Dean! That's…Dean that's not good-"  
"I know, I know, ok? And I'll handle it. We'll just sneak out right now, and I'll talk to him when I get back, sort it out. Ok?"  
"Fine. Just don't get us kicked out of here, ok, it's the only cheap motel in town,"  
"I won't, don't worry!"

* * *

The forest was dark even in the daytime. The hole in the fence was still there, shining brightly like a coin. They hopped through, and Dean spread out the map in front of them.

"So, what are we going to do first?"  
"Check out the rest of this triangle. There must be something in here that got me the first time,"  
"Right then,"  
"We'd better check up on those teenagers too,"

"Who?"  
"The kids. The ones who had that 'Scare Night' last night,"  
"Oh, the Every Scary Movie Clichés? Yeah, we'll make sure they made it through the night. Although to be honest they won't be too appreciative if they have hangovers,"  
"Well we have to check them. I mean…this forest. It's too dangerous to be letting anyone in,"  
"And yet here we are," Dean mused, setting off.

The forest was greener in the daytime than in the night. The floor bristled with shuffling day-creatures, and the birds wings sang above them as they whistled by. They'd covered a third of the triangle at about midday. The brother staggered forlornly up to the Shaman burial ground, where the tents from the 'Scare Night' were still standing tall in the morning sun. A hand was stuck out of the closest tent, the flapping tent flat brushing against it, making it twitch. Dean crouched down in front of the tent and peered in, "They're all in tact. Now lets find somewhere we can eat,"

"Hey, whoa," a head had poked out from the next tent, and a naked torso wriggled out after it, "You're the guys from last night, right?"

The boy staggered to his feet, tripping a little over his pant legs. He scrambled around in an open rucksack outside the tent, flicking away various insects that had found a home in it in the night.

"You'd better be careful of snakes, if you left some of your stuff out last night," Sam pointed out, but the guy continued rootling around in the bag nonplussed. He eventually snapped out a pair of sunglasses and shoved them on.  
"I'm Denny. You…you are though, aren't you? The guys that were here last night?"  
"Yes, we are,"  
Dean felt queasy. The packs on their backs were heavy despite only being half full. The sun was beating down with an oven-heat intensity. The _breeze_ was even sticky and sweaty. He shifted uncomfortably in his t-shirt that stuck to his back like wallpaper paste, and pulled a face as the bites and stings on his bare arms and back of his neck began to itch unbearable. There was something poking on the inside of his foot as well, as if a small bug was needling at the tender skin.

"Did you sleep here last night? Camp out?" the guy asked, squinting through his sunglasses at them. He stumbled over a beer bottle but managed to draw up in front of them, however unsteadily.

"Um, no, why?"  
"You should of hear the shit, man," he said, shaking his head, "So many weird noises,"  
"Weird noises?"

"Yeah! Like…_howling_. And scratching. I tell ya, those _weren't_ raccoons and stuff like that. Like…_wolves_, and _bears_, and…clicking things,"  
"Clicking?"  
"Yeah. Like a…cricket on speed,"  
Dean's scrunched his face up with irritation and scratched at his ankle with one hand, and the back of his neck with the other.

"How far away was it?"  
"I don't know man, and I honestly didn't care, so long as it didn't come any closer! Hardly got any sleep, any of us! Things just don't go bump in the night they…howl, and wail, and knock stuff over,"  
"You mean like branches?"  
"Yeah. A whole branch came off a tree not far, over there somewhere," he pointed vaguely in a westerly direction.

"Shit scary," he said, doing that slow and deep nodding again like he'd done the day before.  
"Are there supposed to be wolves and bears in this forest?"

"You can find them in these parts," Sam explained, distracted, looking back into the forest, "But the hunters in this forest pretty much wiped them out. This is wild land be…anything,"  
"Wouldn't be surprised," he grunted, kicking a beer can further away.

"You'd better head off soon then," Sam said with a nod, before turning away and striding across the clearing.

"Sam! Sam wait!" Dean called, hopping after him, fingers stuck inside his boots where he'd dug them down the side of his foot to scratch at the heated skin, "Sam!"

They'd eaten the lunch Dean had got for them, mostly consisting of chicken wings and peanut M&Ms, but it fuelled them on.

"So, these kids heard wild stuff last night. Crashes and things being torn from trees. This might be whatever keeps taking me,"

Dean glowered, "But how? If it is a great big beastie then how does it nab you from your bed _whilst I'm still in the room_,"

Sam shrugged, "No idea. But at least we have a suspect,"  
Dean pulled a face.

"Dean, would you stop that?"  
"Stop what?"  
"Gurning at me. Everytime I turn around you've got a stupid look on your face. You look constipated,"  
"Thanks,"

"No problem," Sam laughed, shaking his head. Dean grumbled on behind him, tripping and limping.

"Dean, what's wrong!"  
"Do you have any bug spray?"  
"What?"  
"Bug spray. Or…you know, stuff for bites, did you pack it? 'Cos I'm covered in them and they're all…itchy,"

Sam rolled his eyes, and eventually brandished the bottle of Spray-ease.

"There. Go nuts,"

He rested against one of the twisted, younger trees whilst Dean took a shower in the Spray-ease stuff.  
"Don't use it all," Sam chided, "I've got bites too you know,"  
"Yeah, but mine are worse," Dean sprayed a fine mist onto his feet, insanely tempted to scratch at them, "It's this damn heat. They use our skin like all-you-can-eat buffets,"  
"Well I'd rather they get a taste of us, and not whatever is stomping through this forest,"  
"You forget," Dean threw the spray-ease back over, "That thing already got its claws into you a few times. It's just never managed to succeed with whatever it wants from you,"

A crashing sounded in the forest not far from them. The path they had cut up to get where they were now, was slowly being scaled by something that pounded through the trees and ground vegetation with speed. Dean shoved his shoes back on and whipped the gun concealed in his back pocket out, levelling it with whatever was coming. Sam did likewise, dropping his pack to the floor, steadying himself against the rush of heat on the breeze. Whatever it was started to yell. A very human yell:  
"Hey! Hey! Hey!"

The Winchester's lowered their guns slightly, "What?"  
A pale figure burst through the lasts fringes of green, falling to it's knees at Dean and Sam's feet.

"Whoa!" it cried.

"Denny?"

Denny's arms came up, stretching so high in the air with lightly scratched palms facing forward, staring at the guns in the boys hands. Dean rolled his eyes and pushed it away, "What's wrong? What are you running around screaming like that for?"  
"I-I-I, w-we need your help,"  
"What's happened?"  
"Laila. She's got this like, _massive _nosebleed and she's _seriously_ cold man,"  
Sam's skin crawled. His insides went very cold. Dean set his jaw, "Ok. We're coming,"

They raced back through the trees, swiping them away and trying to keep on their feet as best they could.

"When did this start?" Dean called after Denny as he hastily lead the way, "She said she started to feel kinda bad last night, and she went to bed first. She slept through all that noise last night. About half an hour ago they all started screaming in her tent, and there was blood everywhere. It's like a freaking waterfall!"  
"Believe me, I know," Dean toned, leaping over a fallen log. Behind him, Sam jumped, fiercely trying to keep up with the others through the sweltering heat. It was like running through syrup. His mind raced along with his legs but unlike his physical self, his thoughts couldn't keep up. When he skidded into the Shaman burial ground's clearing, he'd completely forgotten everything he'd thought about. The brother's dropped their bags on the soft ground next to the huddle of high school kids. They had to pry and wheedle away her friends before they could actually get to her. She was lying stretched out on her back on a rumpled sleeping bag, blonde hair stuck to her shoulders and forehead with sweat, blood caked and dried all over her mouth and chin. She looked like an injured vampire, her skin pale and her body limp.

"Laila," Sam called, lifting her up gently so that she was sitting, "Hey Laila, can you hear me?"  
"Has she been bitten or something?" one friend rushed, hands flexing nervously.

"It's not Ebola is it?-"  
"What if she got attacked-"  
"Alright, Ok, could we just have everyone take two steps back please, and, you know, shut up!" Dean cried, throwing his arms in the air. They moved back and their voices dropped to a hush.  
"There's not much we can do," Sam said in a low tone to Dean as he tried to stir the sleeping Laila, "She's just going to go through the same thing I do, it won't last too long,"  
Dean nodded, "Laila? Laila, hey, come on, can you hear me?"  
"I've called an ambulance," someone said in the background.

"We have to get her out of the woods," Sam hissed, before turning to her fellow campers.

"Ok, did Laila disappear at all last night? Was there any point where you no-one saw her, where she may have been on her own?"  
There was a tight, deafening pause, then a shorter girl with dark hair gabbled, "She went off with Nate, didn't she Nate? Into the forest,"  
The boy in question shook his head, "I wanted her to b-but she said like she didn't feel like it. I went go and get another beer, and when I came back she wasn't there,"  
"How long was she gone?"  
"About an hour," Nate rushed, "But I didn't think she was on her own, I thought she must have gone for a walk with Tanya," he pointed to the dark haired girl, almost accusingly, and she shook her head vehemently.

"Ok," Sam muttered turning back to the Dean who was still trying to stir her, "That's long enough to go off and contract whatever it is you and her have got,"

He turned back to the group, "Alright, we're going to have to get her out of here, out onto the road, so the ambulance can find her. Did your park cars anywhere?"

"Yeah, straight ahead about a mile at the edge of the forest,"  
"Go there and wait for the ambulance. Sam can you….Sam?"  
Sam had his head bent to the floor, a hand covering the lower half of his face, "Oh…shit," Dean hissed.

"What's going on?" Denny asked, trying to keep the pretence of calm up.

Dean's mind spun.

"How old is she?"  
"What?"  
"Laila, how old is she?"  
"Nineteen,"  
"She's out here with a bunch of high school kids?"  
"Yeah, she's my older sister. She said she had to come with us to make sure we didn't get eaten by bears or something,"  
"Sam. Sam!" he punched Sam on the arm, getting him to lift his head, "Sam, we need to get her out of the forest now. If we do that fast enough you can help,"  
Dean was seriously starting to doubt his own encouragement. Sam had gone very, very pale and his eyes were dull and glassy. If he wanted help from Sam he wasn't going to get it.  
"Denny! Lift her up, and carry her out of the forest,"  
"Have you helped her?"  
"I've done all I can," Dean lied, seeing as there was nothing he could do in the first place, "Just keep going, don't stop whatever you hear, ok?"

"I'm thirsty,"  
They fell silent at Laila's small, weak comment.

"Get her a drink of-"  
"No. No, don't. They can hydrate her at the hospital, alright, just get her to the ambulance,"  
After a pause Denny nodded, and tugged the Nathan guy along to help. They lifted her unsteadily and disappeared into the forest. The group followed, tripping along uneasily behind them, calling out bits of advice and panicking into the still air.  
Dean crouched down and hauled his brother to his feet, "We're not coming back to the forest," he said, as he pulled Sam along, "Until this friend of yours has a head full of salt,"

Sam tried to say something, but Dean silenced by encouraging him to walk. Up ahead, the sound of an ambulance tearing away was almost comforting. They were nearing what sounded like a river, not that Dean could remember exactly where they were or if a river should be there at all. The pair reached the bank, and the rush of the water masked any side that the kids had been making at the edge of the forest. Cursing, he dug the map from his pocket, but keeping Sam upright and reading the tiny marks on the map at the same time was nearly impossible.

* * *

He rested Sam against the side of the tree, and, as there was little else he could do, let him slowly get thirstier and thirstier, and eventually struggle to even see his brother's face. Biting down hard on his lip as Sam moaned and groaned in his cold, thirsty, aching sleep, he began to get his bearings on the map.

It was about an hour later when the sound started. Dean's head shot up from where he was keeping Sam warm. He turned his head slowly to the wall of vegetation on the other side of the bank. A smell began to lace the air. Heavy. Burning. A sweet burning smell. Sulphur.

A patch of bright, white light landed delicately on the edge of forearm of Dean's jacket. He noticed it from the corner of his eye, and swung around to level his gun, whipped from his back pocket, with whatever it was. Nothing. Just dark, and more of the forest. The trees were unmoveable, silent, suspended in the breezeless early evening, as if watching; like spectators to a macabre sport.

"Sam we've gotta go,"  
"I'm thirsty,"

Dean grabbed his brother's arm and dragged him to his feet. Light burst as a halo over their heads, but the minute Dean turned it had gone.

"Sam go,"  
"I'm-"  
Dean cocked his gun again as the light swam around their ankles then disappeared like a switch had been thrown. He looked down at his brother close to the floor, his hands over his eyes. If Sam couldn't run, he would have to stay and fight.

In the distance, a soft, slow clicking sound pattered against the bark. Dean's blood ran cold. The clicking became faster, more urgent, louder, crowding into Dean's ears so loud his own panicked thoughts were swallowed whole. More light burst through the branches and leaves and Dean swung, this time faced with the wall of light, and shot the salt directly towards it. The chattering heightened in the air. It pounded his breath away, and he had to grip tighter to the gun to shoot again.  
"No!"  
He fell backwards as something invisible punched him in the solar plexus, sending him sprawling on the forest floor. Scrabbling to turn over to hear where the shout had come from, he managed to grab his gun and lift it up. But by the time the spots dancing in his vision had cleared, there was nothing. No light, no sound. Just the semi-darkness of the small clearing, and the gentle rush of the river. Sam was gone.

"No! Sam! Sammy!"

* * *

Dean staggered and tripped through the forest. His eyes were dark and fixed straight ahead, a determined frown etched over his features, a muscle in his jaw flickering as he clenched his teeth together. He was going to get Sam back. He was going to tear Sam by any means necessary from the claws of whatever it was that had him. All he had to do was find it.

He came to a halt in another clearing. He realised, recognising the features of the trees around him, that it was close to the clearing Sam had felt so peaceful in. Out of force of habit, he dug his Dad's journal from his pocket where he had stuffed it before following the kids as they carried Laila away. In the tiny folded corner of the only page they had found that John had written on about the case twelve years ago, he studied the tiny words he had spent hours trying to translate. He couldn't see them in the dark of the forest with no torch, especially considering their size. But he knew the first few from memory:  
"Incan morte dominco forte cespas..." he said, softly.

Something glittered through the clearing. Following it steadily, he repeated the small phrase over and over again, "Incan morte dominco forte cespas…"

It glittered a little bright. Brushing away a tangle of spindly branches, he was eventually stood at the edge of the mysteriously calm clearing. A soft, white noise floated between the trees. Something small and bright sparkled like a tiny orb, hovering about six foot from the ground in the centre of the small square-shaped clearing.

"Incan morte dominco forte cespas," Dean said again, and it glowed a little brighter. He reached and touched it gently. His fingers disappeared through it. It was like pushing his head through treacle. He quickly retreated his hand. His digits stung.

"Incan morte dominco-"  
A piercing howl interrupted his broken incantation. It was loud, and very, very close. Turning slowly, carefully, crouched a little, he stood face-to-face with the dripping muzzles of several wiry grey wolves.

"They're almost extinct," Dean whispered to himself under his breath, "They're not used to humans. Just keep very still, and they won't come any closer,"

The one at the front barked like a dog and snapped it's fangs together.

'Ok, maybe not'.

He took one step back, very, very slowly.

Were they real wolves? They couldn't be the Shaman's wolves, cos that guy was dead and buried. But thought of the shining little orb just behind him, and how similar it was to whatever it was that had just taken Sam. Light. A body of light. If that could control Sam, i.e. take him away. Maybe it could control other things to.

A heady snarl broke through his inner-monologue and he swallowed heavily. His gun was in his back pocket, full of rock salt. If these were just feral wild wolves, he was going to give them a painful present.

But, then again, if they were real wolves, he would be doing a lot better standing still than he actually was right now. The pack was advancing slowly, hairs bristling on their skinny, tapered backs. Two options sprung into Dean's head. One was snap out the gun and shoot them _all_ before they pounced at his jugular. The other was to turn and run like hell until he found a tree to jump up.

He took the second when his right arm just didn't seem to move.

He ducked underneath the glowing orb and left it behind, tearing through the forest, his feet pounding at the floor, leaping fallen logs and dodging low hanging branches, feeling the wolves knifing through the greenery behind him. Dean leapt and tumbled down a slope, until he was brought to a rib-breaking halt against a dead tree stump. Breathless he tripped to his feet and launched himself up off it, just managing to grab onto the branch of the next, equally dead tree next to it. With the problems the tree already had, being dead and all, the branch Dean's fingertips gripped like steel too began to slowly flake away from the tree.

Gritting his teeth with such force he thought he'd break his molars, he hauled himself up onto the branch. The heat, the chase, and the exhaustion had all seeped into Dean's already over-worked body. As he managed to get his left leg up and angle himself sideways to the tree branch, his right arm slipped, falling to dangle above the leaping jaws of the snapping wolves below. He'd already decided they weren't the forest's nearly died-out inhabitants. When the teeth of one sank into the flesh of his arm his free leg came down out of instinct and booted the creature on the side of the head. The wolf howled and whimpered, dropping onto all-fours, and Dean could scramble up full onto the branch.

His right arm was completely numb, blood leaking between his fingers. He pushed himself up higher, spreading his weight evenly across the hollow branches. He was so high up, the wolves seemed far away. Or maybe it was just the white-noise that seemed to have appeared in his ears. Tired, he rested his forehead against the tree trunk. The life seemed to drain slowly out of him. He cradled his hot-and-cold arm wearily, watching blood ooze from the torn skin and flesh.

"Sam," he said, croakily. Sam was gone. He was driven up a tree. How did they get into this? How did he _let_ his brother get into this? Eventually, when there seemed to be nothing left in him but a wildly thrashing heart, Dean fell into a hazy sleep.

* * *

FLASHBACK

John frowned.

"What?"  
"Them damn wolves. Killed a twenty-something guy the other day. He was out on a camping trip with some friends,"  
"Wolves?"  
"Yeah,"

The bartended spat into the sink and continued wiping down the glasses, "Poor guy.

"When was this?"  
"Two days ago,"

John looked down at his beer.

"Wolves, you say?"  
"Yup. The nature guys are wetting themselves with happiness. I mean, they thought those critters we nearly long gone. But if there's still a pack out there taking down young people, then they must still be strong,"  
"Yeah…I suppose,"  
"You've gone pale," the guy smirked, "Don't worry about it. Don't go to the woods and you won't get mauled,"

John stood up and left, dropping the money onto the counter. Outside, the heat did nothing for his confusion. He needed fresh air, but that wasn't going to come. He leant heavily against the side of the truck, and stared at the ground beneath his feet. They'd killed the wolves. The possessed ones anyway, when they'd burn that Shaman burial ground. Nearly extinct wolves weren't going to hunt a man down and tear him to shreds, particularly if the guy was camping with other people. That was just plain odd. So unless there were more wolves out there than people realised, and they had become scarily desperate, there was something else going on. John tugged the driver door open and got in, swiping sweat from his hairline. God it was so hot he could barely think. He got the truck started and headed back to the motel. Maybe he'd got ridden of what was possessing the last pack of wolves they came across, John thought dejectedly, but he hadn't even begun on what was still in there now…

END FLASHBACK

* * *

**AS**: Hehe. Review!...please... 


	8. Chapter 8

Dean had spent the night hallucinating. It was to be expected after spending hours up a tree slowly but surely losing blood. The place where the wolf's teeth had dug into his skin was red and angry, even through the blood. It was swollen and a few dustings of something black clotted around the edges: dirt from the scramble up the tree. He leant heavily against the cool bark and let the dreams take him.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSs

He came around not long after, slowly, an aching thud in his head. His eyelids felt like lead shutters. All his senses lurched one way, and his body followed. Unable to come around quick enough, he couldn't catch a hold on the branch. His head thwacked against a neighbouring bough as he plummeted to the floor, then he hit the ground boneless, everything plunging into black.

"Hey, son, come on, open your eyes,"

He was aware of someone, like a shadow, ghosting just above him. A hand touching the side of his neck and the top of his shoulders, pushing down gently but firmly. It wandered up to his head, gently touching the part of his head that was sticky with something half-dried and heavy.

"U-Mmmmm," he mumbled, turning his head away from the hand.

"Come on, wake up,"

His eyes snapped open before sliding closed again. Dean groaned and pulled them back open carefully. The light was bright, different to the light last time he'd woken up. It slanted through the trees and swamped him where he lay on the damp forest floor.

He jumped when footsteps thundered close to him.

"He conscious?"  
"Think so. Got a bite the size of a plate on his right arm,"  
"What do you think got him?"

"Wolf!" Dean croaked, shards of his memory falling painfully into place at the back of his mind, "Wolf," he mumbled, shaking his head, trying to get the hand off him, wanting to get up. His right arm was leaden and numb, pulling down that whole side of his body.

"Hey, hey, just stay still kid-"

"Sam," another piece of information swam to the surface, "Sam,"

"It's alright kid. Lets get you out of here,"

"He been here long d'ya think?"

"All night by the looks of it. We rescued a bunch of kids here lat night. One of them had a seriously bleeding nose and a severe fever. He's probably one of them,"

Dean tried to tie his scrambled thoughts together and fix them still in his head. He was, technically, supposed to be dead. So long as he didn't have one of his many IDs on him, which he doubted he did, he could be anyone without having to prove it.  
"What's your name?"

"Sam…Sam Winchester," Dean croaked, trying to get his head up to figure out where he was.

"'Kay. Any idea what bit you?"  
"Wolf,"

Above him, the paramedic gave one of the park rangers - who he'd manage to drag, albeit begrudgingly, to the scene in case there were any more beasties feeling bitey - a look. The park ranger shook his head, "I've never known one wolf to try and bring down a guy just because he was walking through. I wasn't even sure we _had_ wolves in these woods. Not this side anyway. Probably a mad dog,"  
"We've got to pump him with antibiotics, either way," the paramedic said.  
"Wolf," Dean protested, trying to sit up, "It was…ow,"  
"Easy, easy, lay down, you hit your head,"

"No! No, I have to…find-"  
"Hey, sit back, come on-"  
"No!"

The easy motion of being lifted steadily drew Dean into a sleep, more peaceful and quiet than any he'd had recently.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

He woke up an achingly bright light straight into his eyes. He groaned and tried to move away. The light pulled away and natural light took over.  
"Look like we got there in time. No signs of actually contracting rabies, nor tetanus. He was lucky though. Spending all night in those conditions could have been fatal,"  
"Thanks Doctor,"  
"A nurse will arrive in a minute if he…or yourself, should need anything,"  
"Thank you,"

Didn't he recognise that voice? Slowly straining his eyes fully open, he craned his head to the side to focus the figure by his bed. It was Sam. Sat at the side of his bed, hair hanging in his eyes, blood drying on his face and neck, a bruise around his left eye. He looked very unimpressed.

"Hello _Sam_," Sam said.

"Hello," Dean cracked a smirk. They were silent for a moment, before Sam began to laugh.

"Dean…why are you me?"  
"I'm dead, if you remember?"  
"They're going to find out who you really are soon Dean. The only reason you've been left alone up until now is the fact I've drawn more attention to myself than any usual visitor,"  
Dean pushed himself up with his good arm to a sitting position, Sam leaning quickly forward to help. Dean gritted his teeth and tried harder, knowing too well he couldn't do it himself but not wanting Sam to have a chance to mother him.

"What happened?"  
Sam shrugged, "The nosebleed. And I must have hit something," he touched the bruise about his eye tenderly.

"You remember anything?"  
"No. Nothing. Just feeling ill, then suddenly waking up at the edge of the forest. All over again. What happened to you?"

"I can't really remember. You did your disappearing act almost straight after that girl got sick-"  
"Girl?"  
"Yeah. The…the blonde. She got sick, remember? Same symptoms as…oh shit Sam we've got to find her!"  
"Whoa, slow down. A girl was sick?"  
"You wouldn't remember. Almost as soon as she started doing a Niagara Falls impression, you started up too. Thankfully the kids didn't notice or they'd all be convinced we'd contracted Ebola or something,"

"So…this girl, she's got the same as me?"  
"Blindness, nosebleed, everything,"  
"What does that mean?"

Dean rubbed the part of his head where he'd hit the ground. The bruise was soft, like pummelled fruit, and he drew his hand away quickly, "Think about it Sam. That Diana Lumley girl got back, and killed herself. Now a nineteen year old blonde has-"  
"Taken her place,"  
"Yeah,"  
"Why is it so important for him to get a nineteen year old…." He trailed off quickly. He looked up at Dean with a horrible realisation in his eyes, "It's like a family, isn't it? The teenage girl. The little boy. The baby. The guy, Caleb Tenner. He could be an uncle or a father or something. And me…I'm like a teenage son,"

Dean shifted uncomfortably on the bed and nodded vaguely, "Uh…yeah, sounds good,"  
"Sounds more than just good, Dean! This…_thing_, is trying to create a family! A family of it's own,"  
Dean cleared his throat and turned to eye the nurse hovering around at the curtains of his bed, a small tray in his hand, rimmed with cotton wool buds.

"I think you've got a well wisher,"  
"Excuse me Sir," the nurse said quickly, taking the opportunity to leap forward, "Are you sure you don't want me to check you over-"  
"No, I'm fine," Sam said, trying not to sound testy, "Honestly,"  
"You're covered in blood though. Can we at least clean you up?"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSs

Dean sat up quickly as Sam re-entered his room, a cotton bud pressed against his eye.  
"Ouch,"  
"You alright?"  
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just…I got prodded and poked so much when they 'cleaned me up' all my bruises have flared up again,"

"Moaner. I'm the one in the hospital bed,"

Sam rolled his eyes, and scrunched the bud closer to his eye.

"Well it isn't going to help with you poking it like that,  
"I think I got something in it. Like, half the forest,"

Sam settled himself back in the chair next to Dean's bed.

"By the way Sammy, how did you get here? How did you know I was here?"

"When I came around I went back to the car. I checked the local hospitals, and tried all your 'names'. I eventually tried Sam Winchester, and there 'you' were. Look, Dean, we've got to get you out of here before they notice that you're not me. I heard a doctor say one of the park rangers has organised to come talk to you about what got you-"  
"It was wolves,"

Sam nodded, knowing that despite the improbability; Dean was right.

"But, on the other hand, we can't take you out too soon. If you don't get the antibiotics that you need you could be open to lots of different things. But…I suppose you've been here long enough to have had just about enough,"  
"Exactly. So lets go already,"  
"No. I've got to do something first,"  
"'_I'_?"

"Yes 'I'," Sam chuckled, "Because _you_ are bedridden. _I've_ got to go and see if that girl they brought in is still here,"

"You think she may be taken already?"  
"I don't know,"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSs

Sam slipped furtively down the dim corridors, keeping his head down in-case a passing nurse recognised him and enquired as to why he was sneaking around the intensive care unit. Thankfully, Dean had been moved from here a while ago, but Sam still cursed the long trek it took to get from Dean's private room to intensive care. He checked every patient, trying to find one fitting the description that Dean had given him, as well as the fragmented memories that were slowly starting to emerge in his memory. So far, all he remembered was a blurry scene of a forest, blonde hair, and blood. He picked his way from patient to patient, trying to bluff his way past the staff. No-one stopped him. Afterall, he was cleaned up and looked outwardly confident in what he was doing. Who was going to stop him? He took a left where he probably should have taken a right, and stopped to take in the corridor. It was dim, the natural light shining through a fire escape at the other end making the linoleum floor glisten in odd streaks and patches. There were four chairs lined up against the right hand wall, and occupying them were a couple, and someone that Sam remembered vaguely from the craggy memories of the night in the forest. He figured, by the description of the events that Dean gave him, that this was Denny. Laila's older sister.

Denny was sat with his elbows planted on his knees, hands scraped through his hair, eyes fixed to the floor. The couple were obviously Denny and Laila's parents. The father got up and strode up and down the smell stretch of corridor, head too bowed to notice Sam. Just a little closer up the corridor to Sam, a door stood, shut still. Sam paused, wondering what to do. He imagined briefly the pain the these three were going through, knowing that a love one was suffering and they could do nothing about it. He thought about how, a long time ago, Dean and his father were having to feel that sort of pain as he suffered. Sam let out a long breath, indecision clogging up his actions.

Before he could decide what to do, a nurse shuttled out of Laila's room so fast she was a blur.

"Uh…uh-um," she said, wringing her hands, "Uh…um, Sir? C-Could you um…could you come in here a second, please?" she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder to the door she'd shot out from, her voice shrill as she tried to get their attention. Sam moved forward quickly, rushing up the door and it was pulled too behind the family. He put a hand on it to stop it being shut, and Denny turned to see where the resistance came from.

"Sam?"

Behind Denny, and through the gap between his parents, Sam could see an empty bed where Laila once lay.

"Dammit,"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"She's gone," Sam gasped, as he swung into Dean's room.  
"What?"

"She's gone Dean. Laila. The girl. She's gone,"

"What happened?"

"The nurse says she went into Laila's bathroom to clean the sink, came back, and she was gone. She's disappeared. Exactly the way I've been doing it. I was stood in that corridor outside her door from when the nurse walked in to when she came back out again, and Laila didn't come out of the corridor. The window was fast shut and it's an eighty foot drop to the floor,"  
"They looking for her?"

"They've got security guards doing floor-to-floor checks but…Dean I think she's gone,"  
"Not completely," Dean said, shaking his head, ripping the covers from him, "We're going to find him,"  
"What? Dean, no, you still need antibiotics,"  
"I'm fine," Dean insisted, hissing through his teeth as he struggle his arm out of the hospital gown and into his shirt that was folded neatly by the side of his bed.

"No, Dean-"  
"Look, I talked to the nurse, and she said my course of antibiotics were over. They just wanted to keep me in for observation; make sure I don't get a fever or anything,"  
"Exactly, you should stay here,"  
Dean rolled his eyes. He threw the gown to the floor and tugged on his jeans one-handed, "If I get a fever or something, then you can bring me back here. But for now…I wanna find out what this damn thing's doing, and stop it,"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam bit the top of his pen and scanned the page shown brightly on his laptop screen. Scrubbing his eyes wearily, he tried to reach blindly for his beer. He swiped at the air.  
"Dean?"  
"What?"  
"Did you steal my beer? You're not meant to be drinking alcohol if you've been on antibiotics recently,"  
Dean paused, the beer bottle to his lips.

"Fine," he grumbled, passing it back over, and squinting back down at the tomb in front of him, "Got anything yet?" he asked, his voice raspy from lack of sleep and thirst.

"God it's hot in here," he added in an undertone.

"I've got nothing. No idea what this thing is. But Dena I'm still going with it's a demon,"  
"Alright. So, lets get this confirmed then. We think that a demon is trying to create a family. For reasons we don't know. He kidnaps the appropriate people. Part of that kidnapping process is giving these set of symptoms. A bit like a drugging someone, because it makes them easier to kidnap. It then keeps the family…well, we don't know where. For a particular amount of time. Then…for some reason, it lets them go, and they come back. They come back and they…they get violent,"

"Right," Sam could barely stifle his yawn before continuing, "God that reasoning has a lot of holes in it,"

Dean stood up, wincing and groaning at the pain in his arm. It stung badly under it's bandage, and his whole arm felt slightly numb and heavy from the pain of all the cleaning fluid use, and the needle that had fed the antibiotics into his system. The rest of him felt tired and sluggish, and overall he didn't feel his usual cheery self. In fact he felt almost as he had done up that tree.

"Dean, maybe you should go to sleep,"  
Dean laughed coarsely, "What, and leave you open for that 'thing' to come and snatch you? Jesus Sammy, that thing _must_ be a supernatural psycho if it wants you as his perfect eldest son,"  
Sam gave Dean a look and went back to reading this article. He tapped irritably at the table, then quickly decided to check out a site he'd been searching about avenging spirits. He tapped onto the link and the page come up, but something in the Link History box on their toolbar caught his eye. Sam quickly brought it up in a separate window, and checked the list again.

"Hey Dean?"  
"Yeah?"  
"What's this article on here? The…The 'Tea Murder's,"  
Dean blanched, thankful that his back was turned to Sam so that his little brother didn't see his reaction.

"Uh…um, I don't know. Never heard of it before,"  
"Well it's on our history page. And I don't remember seeing it before. Hey, listen to this,"

Sam started a brief summary of the article, and Dean sat down heavily on his bed, feeling even more tired than he had done before. Why did he keep that from Sam? It was stupid, Sam was going to find out anyway.

"Wow, Dean. This…this is exactly what we've been looking for. This guy, Daniel Tea, he died in this area and he lost his family in a brutal attack. All this stuff I've been reading about avenging spirits, it's…it's almost exactly the same. Someone dies from a brutal attack, the spirit lives on, and tries to make things right,"  
"Yeah, but avenging spirits 'avenge'. This thing is avenging,"  
"You're right. It's making it's own family," Sam shook his head, "You know, this is weird, because I never looked at this before. Did you?"  
"Um, I…I think it must have been up from some other…time,"

Sam raised an eyebrow, "Really?"  
"Yes,"

"Oh…Ok then,"  
Dean lay down his bed and tried to stop himself shaking underneath his heavy jacket. 'There's probably just a draft or something,' he told himself, as he slipped off into a heavy sleep, ignoring the flare of heat on his skin.

"Dean. Dean don't go to sleep. Dean!"  
"Go away,"

Sam growled under his breath and tried to move to wake his brother up, but he was sweaty and hot and pinned by the table to the corner of the room. He rolled the cool surface of the beer bottle around on his forehead and face and tried in vain to cool down. Things were starting to make a little sense now. Sam was being picked to replace this thing's idea of his dead perfect son. How could Sam do that when he was the black sheep his family?

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSs

Next chapter:

FLASBACK

"Sam, I thought you were going to come back in for a sparring-"  
"Football ran, over, I'm sorry Ok!"  
"You should be here, with me and your brother,"  
"Why do I have to? This isn't fair dad, you're not being fair!"  
"Dean doesn't mind-"  
"Dean's different to me, Dean _wants_ to do all of this. _I_ don't. _I'm_ not Dean. I'm sorry I'm not the perfect son but I am who I am!"


End file.
